


Louder Than Love

by Lunatik_Pandora



Series: A Different Orbit [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Depression, Established Relationship, F/M, Fix-It, Getting Together, Hot Mess Express, I Promise It's Not All Problems, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Legal issues, Like I Cannot Possibly Overstate How Much, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Night Terrors, Oh My God Andromeda Why, Panic Attacks, Parents are embarrassing, Past Drug Addiction, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sirius Black/Remus Lupin/James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Sirius Black Lives, Swearing, Swearwolf, Welsh Remus Lupin, split POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23465464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunatik_Pandora/pseuds/Lunatik_Pandora
Summary: In which Remus is sweet, Sirius is a hot mess (and getting messier by the day, it seems), and Tonks is losing her bloody mind over the both of them.
Relationships: Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Series: A Different Orbit [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632550
Comments: 65
Kudos: 66





	1. Someone New

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of two multi-chapter stories that will be set between the events of "When the Moon Rises to Meet the Stars" and "No Code." There's a lot of blanks to fill in there, and not all of them are included in canon. I'm hoping that with this fic, people won't have to read "Moon" in order to get some context for some of the past relationship dynamics.
> 
> Because things happening prior to Sorcerer's Stone were never clearly established, A Different Orbit as a series is technically canon-compliant through the first chapter or two of Order of the Phoenix.

“It’s been a while, _Nymphadora_.”

Dora wanted to cringe at the use of her hated given name, turning on her heel to glare at the offender.

“Do _not_ call me Nymphadora, Sirius. It’s _Tonks_.” He smirked at her and rolled his eyes.

“I see you’re still as bossy as you were at eight.”

“I see _you’re_ still asking to get kicked in the shins.”

“As I recall, when you last tried that, you missed, and wound up crashing headfirst into your mother’s coffee table, so by all means, please give it a go. I could do with the entertainment.” Something in his tone stopped her from retorting. She studied him for a moment -- really _looked_ at him -- comparing him for the first time with the laughing young man her mother used to invite over for dinner on Saturdays.

He was older, obviously; a few new lines around his face, and there were a few stray strands of grey threaded through his hair -- nothing like his friend he’d been sitting with at the meeting, of course-- and still _unfairly_ handsome. But more obvious was the tightness around his mouth and eyes, and the way his smile was so much sharper than she’d remembered them. His movements were a pale mimicry of the casual elegance he had once possessed; like his smiles, and his laughter, there was an edge to it that hadn’t existed before Azkaban. He prowled and paced like a caged beast, ready to bolt for the door at the earliest opening. _He hates being here_. She found she couldn’t blame him; he had traded one prison for another, dementors for ghosts. Her eyes flicked to the tumbler of whiskey in his hand. It was ten in the morning. His friend -- Remus, if she recalled correctly -- was eyeing them both warily from a short way down the hall.

She patted Sirius on the face; his eyes widened at the contact.

“I’ll let you off the hook today. ‘Sides, I think your boyfriend’s waiting for you.” He glanced over his shoulder, seeing Remus watching them, and sighed. Dora was intrigued by the way he’d reacted. _I was just joshing him, but are they actually…?_

“Waiting to give me a lecture, more like,” he muttered. The other man snorted derisively and approached, hands in his pockets. _Werewolf hearing must be sharp._

“Perhaps try _not_ breaking out the Old Ogden’s before lunch?” Sirius glared at him.

“Don’t you start, too, Remus. I’ve had enough from Molly.” Remus gave him a mild look, simply raising a brow at him.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

“Nothing.”

“Ah yes, _nothing_. The perfectly logical explanation for why I’ll be peeling you off the sitting room floor before tea. _Again_.”

“You could try just leaving me be.” Remus hummed, sliding an arm around Sirius’ shoulders.

“Not a chance. Someone’s got to make sure you don’t wind up accidentally showing off all your tattoos to the Weasley kids again--”

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Sirius, need I remind you where you got ‘Mischief Managed’ tattooed? Because the twins wouldn’t shut up about it for a week.” Sirius’s mouth closed with a snap, and he actually flushed a bit, pulling away from Remus. _Now I’m curious…_

“So, where is this tattoo exactly?” Remus leveled Sirius with a particularly unimpressed stare.

“Right on his inner thigh. It’s... _quite_ high up.” Her eyebrows shot into her hairline as she swatted her mother’s cousin in the arm. 

“Really, Sirius? You’ve got people staying here! You can’t just prance about in your pants, you bloody numpty!” He shifted uncomfortably, mumbling something she couldn’t make out before he excused himself and escaped upstairs, Remus staring after him with a pained expression. She grimaced. _Mighta been a bit harsh._ “You going after him, or…?”

“Na, he needs a little space to brood for a minute. I try going after him now, he’ll just slam the door in my face like.” He sighed, running a hand over his tired face.

“He’s not doing well here, is he?”

“Not in the slightest. I understand why he did it, but honestly giving this house to the Order was the worst possible thing he could have done to himself. Doesn’t help he got another letter from Harry this morning.”

“Oh? They not get along or something?”

“Quite the opposite; they adore each other. Harry’s just been… well, I suppose you’ll see eventually. Sirius is trying to get Dumbledore to bring him here sooner rather than later. You’re on watch after Dedalus, right?” She nodded. He glanced at his watch. “You hungry? Reckon Molly’s still got some bits and bobs out from breakfast, and worst case I can at least whip up some tea and toast.” She grinned at him.

“At least you can make that much. Mum banned me from the kitchen after the fifth time I knocked the kettle off the stove and burned myself.” She rolled up the leg of her jeans to show him the burn mark on her shin; it was pretty impressive, even by her standards. Remus let out a low whistle.

“I have… _so_ many questions. Mostly _how_.”

They went into the kitchen together, and he fixed them some tea while she chatted with him about old self-induced injuries, of which he apparently had several of his own. She even managed to knock into a few things and broke two mugs for good measure; she was so used to exasperation from those around her, but the man simply took it in stride, fixing the mugs and righting the furniture without batting an eye. His voice was soothing to listen to; deep and melodic -- not quite as deep as Kingsley, but still pleasantly rumbly -- with a bit of a lilt to it. Welsh, she reckoned, based on how he’d hit his consonants, or draw out his vowels slightly longer than was strictly necessary. He was very well able to keep up with her quick, sarcastic humor, firing back with positively _delightful_ deadpan delivery. She found out, through careful questioning, that despite appearances he was actually four months younger than Sirius, who had been his close friend and dorm mate at Hogwarts. That the tattoo on his forearm was, in fact, one of two he had on him -- though he wouldn’t say what or where the other was. Remus spoke with his hands as much as she did; she marveled at his ability to express so much with a gesture without also swatting his mug off the table, as she did no less than three times during their conversation. He caught the mug every time, and refilled her tea for her, with an almost-grin; he’d meet her gaze for a moment -- he had lovely grey-green eyes -- before dropping his eyes to his hands shyly. His hair would fall into his eyes, and he’d sweep it back over his head with one hand, mussing it slightly. Light brown, almost blond (grey aside), with a bit of curl to it. Not as much as Sirius, but more than she had naturally.

He was sweet. She wasn’t accustomed to sweet.

She got him to laugh -- actually, legitimately laugh-- and his nose scrunched up, his lips actually pulling back over his teeth, something she theorized he typically avoided doing. _Probably for a wolf thing, because they’re perfectly fine, and he’s just got the one little crooked incisor on the top there. It’s cute._ His gaze shifted to somewhere over her shoulder, his face closing off slightly.

“Finished sulking, have you?” She turned around; Sirius was hovering in the doorway, watching them with an odd expression on his face. He shrugged and came in properly, pulling up a chair and pouring himself a tea.

“Wasn’t sulking.” He took a sip and grimaced, adding a lump of sugar; Remus pursed his lips. “I put myself in time out so I could come down and be a proper host. As I was reminded, I have people staying here.” Sirius winked at Dora, and she relaxed, the tension bleeding from the room.

They continued on ribbing one another for another half hour before she stretched and got up from the table.

“I’ve got to get home and get ready for my shift. I’ll see you two later, I hope?”

“I’ll be here,” Sirius said with faux cheerfulness. Remus winked at her, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

 _He’s bloody fucking adorable_. Her eyes shifted to Sirius, who was looking between the two of them with that odd, tight expression again. _And very much taken, unless I’ve missed my guess._ She apparated away and tried to squash the crush growing in her chest before it could fully bloom.

She was not successful. Not in the slightest.


	2. Like Real People Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius is giving Remus whiplash. And a headache.

“What’s that face for?”

“Thought you were sleeping.” Remus opened his eyes, wide awake, if rather solemn; nearly nose to nose as they were, it was hard for Sirius to look away.

“You’ve been looking at me strangely off and on every time you’ve seen me for the last three weeks. Just been waiting for you to tell me whatever it is you want to say.” He leaned forward to touch the tip of his nose to Sirius’. “Talk to me, cariad.”

It was difficult-- incredibly difficult-- for him to bring up the uncomfortable conclusion he’d recently come to, especially when Remus asked him like that. Sirius loved him. Of _course_ he did, totally and desperately. But he had to consider more than just himself, and his own selfish feelings. He was a bitter, broken, useless thing, and Remus surely deserved someone better. Someone light and whole. Someone who could make him laugh like he’d used to, when Sirius had still known how.

“How was your shift last night?” Remus sighed and kissed his forehead.

“Was alright. Nothing really happened, so Tonks and I were just chatting shit back and forth to keep occupied.” Sirius hummed noncommittally. “You didn’t miss much, honestly.”

“You like her.” Remus stiffened in his arms. _Grit your teeth and get it over with, Black_.

“Sirius?” The sharp note of concern in his voice tore at him; he ignored it.

“Remus, I’ve seen the way you watch her. It's the same as you do with me. You’re not stupid, I know you realise.” He didn’t respond, so Sirius pushed forward. “I just think maybe we’re not--”

“No.”

“But--”

“Na. Non. Nyet. Kraak. Ia. Nej. How many other ways do I need to say this before it sinks in?”

“...Was that Gobbledegook?”

“Yes, and also beside the point.” Remus tucked Sirius’ hair behind his ear, his eyes taking in every detail of his face. “Why are you so eager to get rid of me, cariad?”

“Because you deserve so much better than me, and I want you to be happy. I can’t even make _me_ happy right now.” Remus smiled at him sadly.

“S’not your job to make me happy. That’s for me to worry about. As for you, I know you’re having a rough go of it right now--”

“Understatement.”

“-- But why don’t you start by talking to me about it now then, instead of pushing me off on your cousin?”

“She’s once removed, thank you. And I don’t know… I just don’t want to bother you with me being a miserable, useless lump.”

“You’re not useless.” He snorted softly, shaking his head.

“Tell that to Snivellus.” Remus raised a brow at him.

“I hadn’t realized we were taking _Severus Snape’s_ opinions on our relationship into account. Silly me.” Sirius smiled weakly in spite of the sinking black hole in his chest. Remus placed his hands on either side of his face, holding him. “Hey.” He met his eyes, fully expecting Remus to say something stupidly romantic or try to give him a pep talk or some shite like that. He was bracing himself for it.

Instead, Remus pressed his palms into Sirius' cheeks, squishing them together.

“ _Fish._ ”

It was so ridiculous, so utterly _stupid_ , it startled a laugh out of Sirius with the force of a champagne cork, and all at once all the tension and anxiety he'd been holding inside began pouring out of him. He was soon howling with laughter to the point of breathlessness, tears pouring down his face. And when the laughter subsided, but the tears _didn’t_ , Remus held him: a solid, silent comfort as he purged himself of all the darkness that had been building for the past month. He hated crying -- _hated it_ \-- but _fuck_ if he didn’t feel better when he was done. Remus pressed another kiss to his forehead, stubble scratching against Sirius' brow.

“Better?”

“Wanker.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Sirius didn’t answer, just tucked himself in beneath Remus’ chin; his arms tightened around Sirius, thumb stroking his arm lazily.

He was safe.

“I still think you ought to ask her to dinner, you know.” Remus' chest expanded against his ear, releasing in a deep sigh that brushed warm against his hair. “Not saying to ditch me anymore, mind. Just… you know. _Options_.”

“Why are you so set on this?”

“Because I’ve never seen you look at anyone else the way you look at me. Not even Lily.” Remus flinched.

“You know that was different. I'm not sure if we can, or _should_ , try to replicate it. Or --even if she was interested in _me_ , mind you -- if she would be interested in that kind of a relationship.”

“Why are you so sure she’s not interested?”

“Maybe because I’m old enough to be her father?” Sirius pulled back to squint at him.

“You were hardly fucking your own hand at thirteen, let alone anyone else. Don’t start.”

“Alright, so it was a bit of an exaggeration. It’s still a large age difference.” Sirius rolled his eyes.

“You're impossible. Right, how about this: I do the leg work, being the excellent wingman that I am, and you agree to at least _try_. Just once, for me. Deal?” Remus regarded him seriously.

“I will if you will. And if I object to your methods, I reserve the right to veto.” Sirius kissed the tip of his nose.

“Of course, love.”

“Are you done wallowing?”

“For now. Give me another week, I’m sure something’ll set me off again.”

“At least you’re honest, I’ll give you that.” There was no venom in it as Remus grinned, and pressed his lips against Sirius’. And, for at least that night, all was right in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's important to note that at this point, Sirius is still trying to get back to himself after spending nearly half his life in Azkaban. He's made a lot of progress, but being in Grimmauld place is... a massive set back for him. He knows he's being unreasonable. That's part of the problem.
> 
> Languages in which Remus said "no": Welsh, French, Russian, Gobbledegook, Arabic, Swedish. The Gobbledegook is, of course, entirely fabricated, but I thought it'd be an amusing add-in.
> 
> Regarding the fish-face: my husband will use this tactic on me when he's trying to break me out of a funk. I can never not laugh about it because he, like Remus, is incredibly deadpan most of the time and not prone to ridiculousness like I am (or like Sirius is.) It's remarkably effective at clearing dark clouds, even for a moment.


	3. Whipping Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry comes to Number 12; Remus and Tonks are betting on fireworks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remus' POV of Chapter 4 of OotP.
> 
> There's references to a revelation from "Ten" in here; if you care, you may want to read that first. Otherwise, carry on.

Remus slid into the dining room, holding the door open for Tonks as he did so, and found the two open seats next to Sirius.

"How'd it go?"

"We didn't have any trouble, if that's what you're wondering, but I think we're in for some fireworks tonight." Sirius' eyes widened.

"That bad, huh?" Tonks shook her head.

"If Harry doesn't have Hermione and Ron nailed to a wall within an hour, I'll eat Dedalus' hat." Remus scoffed.

"You have far too much faith in the Evans temper. I give him ten minutes, tops." Sirius opened his mouth to ask what had happened, but Dumbledore interrupted by starting the meeting. During the minutes, however, Remus heard someone--Harry, he realized-- bellowing furiously at the top of his lungs somewhere upstairs. He saw Sirius shake his head, impressed.

"Merlin, that boy's got some lungs on him."

"Always has. Remember when he yelled at us in the Shack?" Sirius grimaced, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"I try not to. He’s got a mean hook." Tonks snorted beside him, her dark eyes dancing with mirth.

"Guess I owe you a sickle, Remus." He shook his head, hair falling into his eyes slightly; he swept it back.

“You don’t owe me anything. Really.” _Though really I’d love to pin you against a wall and see how you taste, if I thought you’d be up for it._ He blinked and looked down at his hands, trying to shake the errant thought. _Fuck. Stop that._

He blamed Sirius, he thought, as he half-listened to Snape make his report. He had been doing a fantastic job of ignoring his developing infatuation with the young woman beside him, before Sirius had to go and point it out to him. He had dragged it out into the light where it was now growing like a weed, choking out all Remus’ arguments as to why it could never, would never, _should_ never happen. Sirius had been right, of course. They had done this before, with Lily and James, and it had been _good_. But he had known where they had stood, always known, since that very first night in the Gryffindor dorms, years before Voldemort had destroyed that little bubble of happiness they’d created in an otherwise fucked up world.

He worried about Sirius, and that despite his protestations to the contrary, that he wasn’t making this decision with a clear head. When he had been on the run, he had made some incredible strides in coming back to himself. He had largely lost that starved, haunted look he had, and had been laughing and the amount of times the man forgot where he was had dwindled down to nothing, to the point Remus had almost forgotten that he’d been doing it at all. Now, however… while no longer starved, Sirius seemed to constantly be on edge. He had been drinking quite a bit more than Remus was particularly comfortable with, and he had a sneaking suspicion that Sirius didn’t have a bottle in his hand nearly as much when he was home with him. Which was, he was sorry to say, becoming increasingly less as he was once more attempting to infiltrate the packs for Dumbledore. _As futile an effort as ever, but it’s something I suppose._ A small, selfish part of him wished that they had stayed in Belize, and he felt guilty for even thinking it. More than anything else though, Remus just wanted to take Sirius and Harry and ride out the coming storm in that little bungalow on the beach. He wanted to remind Sirius what laughter felt like, every day for the rest of his days. He wanted to keep Harry safe, and happy. He tried to ignore the half-formed thoughts of a fourth, distinctly feminine person sitting with them with her feet in the sand, bubbly laughter echoing through his head, bright pink hair whipping about in the breeze. He shook it off. _No sense dwelling on what can’t be._

The meeting ended quickly enough, and everyone filed out, Tonks hanging behind to stay for dinner. He was grateful; she had a talent for lifting anyone’s mood, and he had a feeling it would be sorely needed. Especially after she tripped over the umbrella stand, and Mrs. Black’s portrait started going off. _Naturally, the one thing that could set Sirius off more than Snape’s needling._ He heard the flat tone of Sirius’ voice even as he attempted to greet his godson, who Remus knew he had been desperately wanting to see for weeks. Judging by Harry’s expression, the tone had not gone unnoticed; the boy seemed rather unsure of himself, suddenly, looking somehow smaller and thinner than he had all evening. Remus pushed down a wave of indignation that had risen on Harry's behalf; he resolved to see how Sirius did the rest of the evening, and if he was able to put Harry better at ease. _Poor lad’s been under lock and key all summer as you damn well know._ That was also ignoring the fact that Remus had noticed that Harry’s clothes were hanging on him more loosely than he had expected, and not just because of the growth spurt he seemed to have undergone in the year since he’d last seen him. He suspected that the boy hadn’t been eating properly all summer; he found himself hoping that this was psychological. The alternative was… unfathomable. As he stood in the corner talking with Bill, he overheard bits and pieces of the conversation between Harry and Sirius, effectively squashing any belief he’d had that the man might have been able to dial back the bitterness for five fucking minutes. Harry, however, seemed to be sympathetic, rather than hurt, so Remus elected to ignore it. For now.

Remus knew that part of Sirius’ trouble stemmed from the fact that he had never been the type of man content to sit on the sidelines. _In any context_ , he thought wryly. He needed to be in the thick of things, taking action. If Remus had been the one in charge of things, he would have Sirius taking a larger role in planning operations, helping build things. Not this. Sirius wasn’t Molly; he wasn’t able to keep himself sane with cleaning and housekeeping. Not when others were placing themselves on the front lines. He hadn’t even been allowed to take part in the guard rotations for Harry, which Remus privately thought had more to do with keeping Sirius from Harry than anything else.

Dinner, to his great relief, seemed to pass relatively uneventfully (Fred and George’s antics aside, which he had tried not to laugh at, honest) and he thought perhaps they could get through the evening unscathed when Sirius had to open his giant fucking mouth and ask Harry why he hadn’t been pestering them all about information. He glared at him from across the table. _You just had to stir the pot, didn’t you? Couldn’t leave well enough alone._ Sirius, as was his wont anymore, ignored his warning looks entirely in favor of picking a fight with Molly, which practically started a riot at the table. He was content to stay out of it, only keeping an eye on Sirius in case the idiot did something impulsive and stupid, until Molly started making personal attacks. One look at Sirius’ face, and Remus knew he needed to end this quickly; the moment she brought Arthur into it, he spoke up with his own support of telling Harry at least the basics. He knew the boy was more like James-- like Sirius -- than anyone cared to admit: he was not content to sit at home and wait. The last thing they wanted was for Harry to run off and do something impulsive without having at least enough information to give him the general shape of things. And he definitely had access to information; the twins were far more resourceful than Molly gave them credit for. He’d rather have it all laid out, in context. Sirius seemed to be mollified, at least.

And then fucking Molly couldn’t stand not having the last word, implying that she was the only one that had Harry’s best interests at heart. He saw Sirius' eyes narrow slightly, dangerously.

“He’s not your son.” _Damn right. He’s ours._

“He’s as good as! Who else has he got?”

“He’s got me!” Molly’s lip curled up in a dangerous sort of sneer, and he felt a brief stab of foreboding.

“Yes, the thing is, it’s been rather difficult for you to look after him while you’ve been locked up in Azkaban, hasn’t it?” Remus could feel the blood pounding in his ears, a growl threatening to rip from his throat as he watched Sirius blanch with fury and start to rise from his chair. He felt a hand rest on his knee, steadying him.

“Molly, you’re not the only person at this table who cares about Harry,” he bit out, barely containing his anger. _How fucking dare you._ “Sirius, sit _down._ ” He stressed the last word, knowing Sirius would listen, and he did.

The five of them -- Arthur, Bill, Tonks, Sirius, and himself -- took it in turns answering Harry’s questions, and filling him in on things as best they could before Molly came back in and shooed him off to bed, Arthur and Bill following shortly after. Sirius was glaring into the dying embers of the fire, something dark and sullen in his face, before he mumbled his goodnights and left Remus and Tonks alone in the kitchen.

“Thank you for stopping me.”

“Figured you needed something to remind you where you were… Molly was bang out of line, but I think between you and Sirius you’d have turned her into a ginger smear on the wall, and well…” she trailed off with a shrug. “You have a bit of a temper on you, don’t you?” Remus winced.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s nice to see there’s a little fire under the sweet face you put on.” He blinked at her a bit stupidly, and she blushed. “Sorry, that came out a bit… erm… anyway, I thought it was sweet. How protective you are of him.” Remus didn’t know what to say to that. He also didn’t know how to react when she kissed him on the cheek before she left for the evening, with a wink and a wave and a “See you, Wolfie.”

He trudged upstairs, trying to unknot the tangle of emotions that had settled in his chest. Sirius was already in bed, his back turned to the door, curled up in a way that told Remus that he was still awake. He watched him for a moment, mulling over the events of the past few hours as he began to undress.

He was worried about Sirius, for so many reasons, but probably the biggest reason of all was that the man had somehow become the resident punching bag for the Order, the one that everyone seemed to always offload all their stress and anxiety on, simply because he was there. And Remus was often not there to act as a buffer, or to defend him when he needed defending, or to take the bottle out of his hands and kiss him until he forgot he was drinking at all.

“You coming to bed, or you just going to stand in the corner and sigh at me all night?”

“I can’t admire the view?”

“I’m fully clothed and in a shite mood, it can’t be that bloody interesting.” Remus slipped under the covers, wrapping an arm around the stiff-backed pile of angst and self loathing he’d been in love with for twenty years, and kissed his shoulder.

“You’re always interesting to me.” Sirius was quiet for so long that Remus might have thought he’d fallen asleep, if he couldn’t feel how tense he still was in his arms.

“Does everyone think I don’t care about him?” He wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or not, Sirius had spoken it so softly, sounding completely destroyed by the thought.

“I don’t think that.”

“You wouldn’t though. You know me well enough-- though I thought a lot of these knobs might have known me well enough-- I mean, _fuck_ , how badly did I mess things up, going after Pete? And Harry--”

“Harry's the only one that matters, and he knows that you care about him more than anyone else in the world. You’ve gotten more letters from him than Ron and Hermione combined, you realize that? Do you have any idea how big a deal that is? That boy hates writing.” Sirius gave a wry snort.

“His handwriting’s atrocious, isn’t it?”

“Oh it’s gotten much better recently. Try grading his papers.” He paused for a moment, thinking back to when he had been Harry’s professor, and what he had heard from Filius and Minerva about him. “He’d always finish _my_ assignments, though. Always to length, and sometimes even a little over. Never turned a single thing in late. Shocked the hell out of the other professors when they heard." 

"Even Snape?"

"Fuck Snape. He doesn't count." That got an amused huff from Sirius. "Anyway, I let Minerva read some of what he had written for me, and she said you could tell he was enjoying the material because he didn’t try to write slightly larger or use extra filler words to meet the page length requirement, and I had infinitely less smudges and stains and… _interesting_ misspellings on my assignments, so you could tell he wasn’t pulling all-nighters trying to finish them. He was actually making an effort to keep them neat.” He kissed Sirius’ neck, breathing him in for a moment before continuing. “He’s been writing you just about every day for over a year. Pages and pages of letters. With real substance, telling you about himself, how he’s feeling. Asking advice. That’s a lot coming from him. I can’t tell you how long it took me to get him to even relax around me, and I was meeting with him _in person_ on a regular basis.”

“You were his professor, and he doesn’t have a great track record with authority figures.”

“Even more reason why his behavior towards you is so exceptional. He likes me; he _loves_ you." Sirius turned to look at him, his brows knitting together in consternation.

"He'd love you too if you gave him the chance, you know." _Ouch._ Sirius nudged him. "Why've you been keeping distance?" He shrugged.

"Dunno." Sirius groaned and rolled over onto his back.

"So… what, you think he wouldn't accept you?"

"No, he's remarkably tolerant. I mean you saw him, he didn't even flinch when he found out what I am--"

"You know that's not what I'm talking about, Remus." He did, unfortunately. "So which is it you're worried about? Us? Or the decade-long love affair with opiates?" _It sounds so innocuous when he says it like that._ He sighed.

"Bit of both, honestly."

"Well, I don't think he'll hold your past against you, but that's not something you need to tell him tomorrow either way. And as far as you and me are concerned…" Sirius grabbed Remus' hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it gently before resting it over his heart. "I have it on good authority that he'll be fine with it, but I really don't want to make a whole _thing_ out of it anyway." Remus frowned at him; something must have shown on his face, because Sirius rushed to explain. "I just mean I don't want to announce it, like it's something not normal. It’s just… part of our lives, you know? A big part. So if he finds out, he finds out. If he doesn't, I have some serious concerns about his observational skills, but we'll build that bridge when we get there I suppose." 

"So you want to just... what, wait until he notices and asks us about it?" Sirius nodded. Remus thought about this for a moment. On one hand, he'd prefer to just tell Harry straight out -- rip off the bandage, as it were, and if the boy had an issue with them being together… well, it would hurt like a motherfucker, but at least he'd _know._ But what Sirius was suggesting… a grin started spreading slowly across his face.

"... How long you think it'll take for him to catch on?"

"Ages, with how often you're around."

"Let's say I was around more now then."

"Not before he goes back to Hogwarts, I'd wager. Not with this stupid hearing over his head. And then that's only if I'm wrong about Tonks--"

"Which you are--"

" _Not._ Shut up and leave it to me for once, would you?" He let out a long-suffering sigh.

" _Fine._ ” Sirius was leaning up on his elbow now, looking down on him with his eyes dancing with mischief in the waxing moonlight; Remus knew he’d concede just about anything at that point. He reached up and cupped Sirius’ cheek with his hand, stroking his thumb along his cheekbone. Sirius leaned into his hand, closing his eyes lazily. He wanted to stay with him like this, not go back out into the woods where he’d find--

_“Ha! This one’s got no fangs, no pride.”_

_“Please, just leave us. It’s no use.”_

_“Crawl back to your master, dog.”_

_“I can’t be seen talking to you again. Not after last time…”_

_“Dumbledore’s pet, eh? Fenrir’s already told us all about you.”_

\--nothing. He was getting nowhere with the packs. They already knew who and what he was. The few he _may_ have been able to sway to his side under normal circumstances were too afraid to join him, either by pressure from the rest of the pack, or from fear of the idiotic ministry. He could keep going back, sure. But why? He had already heard from Olympe that she and Hagrid had failed in their attempts to treat with the giants, so it’s not like he would be the only failure. _It’s one thing if I could get any kind of a foothold, but I’ve got absolutely nothing._ The choice, then, was clear.

“I think I’ll be home for dinner tomorrow night after all.” Sirius' face lit up at the prospect.

"You promise?"

"I promise."


	4. Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It sucks when your parents can just _tell_ things that you'd much rather keep to yourself. Even more so when they insist on bringing it up at the dinner table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: unfiltered discussions about sex, light allusions to past abusive relationships

"Alright, so who is he?"

Dora started, dropping her fork into her mash.

"Ah, fu--- erm, _fudge?_ "

"Oh, for fuck's sake, girl, you're twenty two. Swear freely, so long as it's not in front of company." She blushed, regardless; her mother could be awfully crass sometimes for such an otherwise elegant and refined woman. _Black blood tells_ , she recalled her saying. She gathered herself, preparing for the inevitable inquisition.

"Who're you asking about Mum?" Her father chuckled from across the table.

"Whichever bloke has you mooning about the house like a lovesick puppy." He frowned for a moment, chewing his beef. "Or bird, I suppose. We're progressive here--"

" _Ted_." He gave his wife a cheeky grin and mimed zipping his lips closed. Dora's mother fixed her dark, penetrating gaze back on her face. "He's right though, you're very obviously taken with someone. I demand details."

She hoped that she really hadn't been as obvious as they were making her out to be; that the only reason they'd picked up on it was because they were her parents and knew her so well. Otherwise it didn't say much for her chances of keeping her job, let alone her position in the Order. Regardless, she knew she couldn't lie to them.

"Well since I'm apparently that transparent… I met him through work."

"Oh? Is he an Auror, then?" Her mother's tone was politely surprised, but she could hear the unspoken question: _Didn't think you'd go for another Auror after the disaster with Gavin._ Which to be fair to him, had been more of an issue of incompatible goals. He had wanted a girlfriend that would worship the ground he walked on and let him play the white knight for her, and she wanted... literally anything but that. _Perks was happy to be that for him though, and good for them, I guess._

"No, he's not, he's--"

"A witness you had to interview? Maybe a suspect?" Her father was getting far too excited about this; he was going to put someone's eye out with his fork if he wasn't careful. Probably his own. "Oooh, better yet, someone you convinced to roll over on his mates in exchange for--”

“ _Dad!_ ”

“What? I was going to say favors!” He paused, blinking as he thought over what he said. “... As in a lighter sentence, not… y’know, _favors_ … Christ Almighty…”

"No, nothing that exciting. He's someone I've met through my _recon work_." She stressed the term so they'd know it wasn't the official channels; her parents were members of the Order as well, though their role was less direct than her own: they were setting up a network of safehouses, and as such didn’t attend meetings, relying on Dora for any pertinent information. They both nodded in understanding.

"I wasn't aware there were many people around your age involved in that end of things," her mother mused, arching a brow at her.

"Well, no, he's a bit older than me, see--"

"Oh? How much older exactly? Like, five years? Ten?"

"He's thirty-five, if you must know, and he's very sweet, and intelligent... and rather devastatingly handsome--"

"Checks off all the boxes, doesn’t he?"

"-- _but_ , he has a _boyfriend_ already, so I highly doubt that even if he _was_ interested, that I'd have a shot. I don't want to get between them, and they're a bit perfect together." Her father seemed to deflate a little on her behalf, bless him. Her mother, on the other hand, was looking at her appraisingly.

"If it's who I think it is-- and I'm sure that I am, there's only so many thirty-five year old men there-- I don't think _interest_ is the problem. And if I'm right, then, knowing my cousin, he'd probably love for you to _get between them._ " Her father choked on his beer, sputtering.

"D..Dromeda, do you mean…? You're not seriously encouraging our daughter to _pursue_ him, are you?"

"No, simply advising her to keep an open mind, if the opportunity presents itself." Dora was glad she wasn't the only one looking at her mother like she'd sprouted a second head. What was she implying?

“Mum, it’s not, erm… your cousin.”

“Oh I didn’t say it was. But I was always curious what it was about Remus that made him swear off his philandering ways. I mean, really, is the sex just that good?”

“ _Mother, please_.” Dora was blushing furiously now, hiding her face in her hands; this was not the way she had intended on this conversation going. Normally she was well able to handle her mother’s ability to have frank discussions about sex at the dinner table, but it was very different when Dora was actively attempting to squash an inconvenient crush and her mother insisted on talking about how Remus apparently fucked her womanizing cousin monogamous. Because of course now she was wondering -- _was_ the sex really that good? _Would I even know what good sex felt like? Fuck if I know._ Would his eyes go all gold like they had when he’d gotten his back up with Molly? Would his voice get all deep and dangerous again? Would he pin her against the wall and---

_Woah, back it up there, Tonksie. Getting a bit ahead of yourself._

Dora peeked between her fingers to see her mother smirking at her triumphantly, her father shaking his head softly, clearly more amused than disturbed. A normal evening for the Tonks family, she concluded, as her father got up to grab the pudding he’d prepared.

Later on that evening, as she was getting ready for bed, she heard a soft knock on her door.

“Dora, do you have a moment?” It was her mother, in her dressing gown, her long dark hair braided over one shoulder. Dora shrugged, motioning for her to come sit down on the bed, which she promptly realized was an absolute mess. She scrambled to clear a spot off for her to sit, smoothing the coverlet down on the end before plopping herself unceremoniously into the middle. Her mother, true to form, sat primly at the end.

“What’s up, Mum?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Remus; seriously, this time,” she hastened to add, seeing her daughter’s darkening expression. “Really, I’m not here to tease you about him.”

“Mum, honestly, it’s not a big deal. It’s just a silly crush I’m trying to get over.” Her mother hummed, brushing Dora’s hair behind her ear.

“Well… I suppose if you’re set on it, then I can’t say anything that would sway you. That said, I know you, and I know the harder you try not to think about it, the harder you _will_ think about it, and you’ll wind up making yourself miserable over it.” She sighed. “You’ve had rotten luck with men, darling girl.” Dora scoffed.

“Figures that the one time I find a bloke who isn’t trying to get me in bed for my shape-changing ability, and he’s not even a little bit on the market.” She stretched, lying back and swinging her legs a bit for good measure. “It’s fine, though. He’s such a lovely person that I’m happy to just have him in my life as a friend. I just… you know… need to get this crush under control, so I don’t do things like tell him to his face that I think he’s sweet and then kiss his cheek while I'm blushing like a total idiot.”

“Oh you poor thing, did you really?”

“Look, in my defense, he’d just finished telling off Molly Weasley and he’d gotten all... “ She waved her hands in the air helplessly, trying to come up with a good way to explain it. “ _You know_. I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“Oh, he's absolutely _something_ to behold when he gets fired up. I remember visiting Sirius at his flat one time, and while I was there, Remus came home, ranting about some legislation that just passed that barred werewolves from entering St Mungo’s; they ended up repealing _that_ one after the war, but…” She shrugged. “Poor man had worked up a proper head of steam before he realized I was there, and suddenly had nowhere to direct it.” Dora could picture it: Remus, younger and less grey around the edges, gesticulating emphatically as he stormed around the room in a fury, his eyes burning gold. She felt a dreamy smile spread across her face.

“ _That_ must have been a sight.”

“Oh, it was. I may be happily married, but I’m not dead. He’s quite nearly as good looking as Sirius is, and that’s an accomplishment; that man got every single good gene our family had to offer.”

“All two of them?” Her mother swatted her shoulder playfully.

"Be nice, you. Anyway, he sort of pulled up short and was suddenly polite as you please to me, apologizing for yelling, checking if I needed anything. He _is_ very sweet, and the _blush_ on that man! I thought he was about to catch fire right there in the kitchen." She paused, considering. "Sirius too, for that matter, though for a different reason I'm sure. I can only _imagine_ what went on in there after I left." Dora couldn't imagine; her heart simply couldn't take it. _Certainly doesn't help they're both bloody gorgeous._

"I'll let you get to bed, now. Just remember what I said earlier."

"Yes, Mother… I'll keep an open mind." _Though what about I haven't the foggiest. Doubt she'd come right out and say, though, she's got a look on her face like she's planning on being annoyingly oblique._

"Good." Her mother kissed her forehead and headed to the door. "And Dora?"

"Hm?"

"Do try to have fun, love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't going to be any explicit sex in this story, but dammit we're gonna TALK about it a little bit.


	5. Seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wants to get to know Remus a little better.
> 
> If he'd been paying closer attention, he'd have found out a whole lot more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for making you wait a few months. I do, at least, have another chapter already in the works, so... probably not a huge gap? Sorry... I know I update very sporadically. In my defense, though... ((gestures at the everything)). It's been a little hard to focus. Anyway, most of this story will be from R/S/D's POVs, but we're going to get a rare Harry POV here because I think it adds some dimension. Hope you enjoy!

It was still dark when Harry crept down into the kitchen, having finally given up on trying to get back to sleep. Between the recurring nightmares and Ron’s snoring, it was a lost cause. He was looking forward to having some time alone to just explore the house a little, and maybe cook breakfast before Mrs. Weasley woke up. He wasn’t expecting to see a lone figure sitting at the table, using fairy lights to read a book as he sipped from a mug; coffee, by the smell of it.

“Professor Lupin? What are you doing up?” Lupin looked up from his book, seeming a bit caught off guard.

“Well good morning. I could ask you the same thing, you know.” He paused, his brows knitting together a bit. “And really, Harry, I haven’t been your professor in over a year now. You can call me Remus. Or Moony. Or Arsehole. Git. Come to think of it, I answer to quite a lot of things, I do.” Harry tried to suppress a laugh at this; he failed miserably, letting out an undignified snort. Prof-- _Remus_ grinned and winked at him, placing a slip of parchment between the pages to mark his place and closing the book, setting it off to the side. Harry was surprised to note that he still felt as at ease around him as when Pro-- _Remus_ was teaching him. He nodded towards the book, curious.

"What are you reading?"

"Oh, just polishing up on my wizarding law. Statutes and such." He was trying to act nonchalant about it, but Harry wasn't fooled for a second.

"Is this for my hearing?" Remus shrugged, examining his nails.

"Thought I'd make myself useful, since I'm not going to be allowed in to accompany you, and of course Sirius wouldn't be allowed to. So if they're going to send you in there without one of your legal guardians present --which is dodgy enough as it is, mind-- then it's up to us to make sure you're at least well equipped to deal with it." He looked up at Harry grimly. "We've both enough experience with kangaroo courts and the general idiocy of the ministry to be of some help here."

Harry felt his anxiety grow exponentially at Remus' words. _He thinks they're going to try to expel me no matter what._ He considered what Ron and Hermione had told him a few nights prior; it tracked, honestly. Fudge seemed to be bound and determined to tear him down at every turn. _Well, that's nothing I haven't been through before, is it? Though having the whole government out for my blood is new…_

"What did Dumbledore have to say about it?" He tried to keep his voice as level and nonchalant as Remus'.

"Which bit?"

"About the ministry being on this whole… campaign."

Remus sipped his coffee in a deliberate sort of way; Harry thought he saw a flash of something heated in the man’s eyes before he'd smoothed his expression back out.

"Dumbledore seems to think that the Minister is set on destroying your reputation so thoroughly that no one would ever take you seriously again. As such, he feels it's prudent that _he_ handles the hearing, alone, though he has not deigned to inform the lesser mortals exactly what that means." There was a definite sour note to his tone, barely noticeable, but Harry was able to pick up on it nonetheless.

"Is that a problem?" Remus pursed his lips slightly, seeming to choose his words with care.

"When it comes to you, Sirius and I don't much appreciate him keeping us in the dark. Did you hear from him directly at all over the summer?" Harry shook his head, perplexed at the abrupt subject change. Remus just hummed, leaning back in his chair with a frown. Suddenly, he winced, swearing under his breath while rubbing his temples.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, just got a headache, s'all. I'll live." His accent had become more pronounced, Harry realized. Relaxed, even. _Not just the accent… he’s relaxing his language around me._ Professor Lupin would never have sworn in front of his students, even Harry. But Remus…

_“Now that I’m not your professor, I no longer feel bad about giving this to you.”_

Apparently Remus had different rules.

"Do you get headaches a lot?"

"Around Sirius? Constantly." He smirked. "But to properly answer, yes. Every month, like clockwork." _Pre-moon symptoms then._

"Anything you can do for it?" Remus lifted the mug.

"Caffeine usually does wonders. Ironically so does sleep, but seeing as that's not happening now… caffeine it is." Harry considered him for a moment before going over to the cabinet and pulling out two glasses, filling both with water. He set one pointedly down in front of Remus before taking a sip of his own. Remus opened his mouth, likely to protest; Harry raised a brow at him, daring him to try. He chuckled, shaking his head, before picking up the glass and draining half of it in one go.

"So… you said Sirius is working on this too?" He wasn't sure how he felt about it. His godfather seemed to have quite enough on his plate without worrying over a ridiculous hearing. _Though maybe if I get expelled, I can come live here with him. Then he won't be so alone._ The thought cheered him, marginally. Remus nodded at him.

"He's been scouring the library here, trying to see if he can find anything of use in the records."

"Any luck?"

"He's found some... _interesting_ precedents, I can say that much. That and some nasty curses… one of the milder ones he found would burn Fudge's tongue out of his mouth if he said anything disparaging about you, like." Something in his expression -- maybe in the set of his brows, or the tiny upward twitch of the left corner of his mouth -- hinted to Harry that Remus would not be particularly opposed to this outcome. 

The thought was strangely heartening.

"Well, let's keep that on the back burner, in case the hearing goes poorly." Remus regarded him steadily, a quiet sort of sadness in his eyes despite the small smile quirking the corners of his lips upwards.

"Yes, I think we shall, at that." He took another sip of his coffee; Harry used the momentary distraction to begin rummaging through the cabinets. “Looking for something?”

“Just the pans… reckon if I’m going to be up anyway, may as well make breakfast for everyone.”

“You like to cook?” Harry shrugged.

"For people I like." He didn't think he needed to go into all the details of how and why, and thankfully Remus wasn't asking. "What do you prefer for breakfast?" Remus chuckled softly, his mouth twisting a bit wryly.

"Honestly I'll take anything that isn't beans on toast." Despite the perfectly even tone, Harry felt like there was a story behind that comment, but didn't press.

"Well… I can do a half decent fry up.” He heard Remus get up, and before he could fully register, he saw the man out of the corner of his eye, pulling a variety of meats from the ice box. "Erm… I could have gotten those."

"Harry, I'm not about to sit here with my feet up while you're cooking." _That's what I'm used to, though._ "Besides, I rather miss being in the kitchen like this. Molly's usually in here bustling around before we've even got our pants on." Harry shared a quick, amused grin with Remus; it was true enough. The Weasley matriarch was always an uncommonly early riser. He had learned that quickly the first summer he’d stayed with them, often opting to sit in Ron’s room and listen to him snore rather than risk possibly being smothered. Though there had been several mornings he could recall where she had let him take some small tasks off her hands, sometimes chatting with him about plans for the day or telling embarrassing stories about Ron -- stories he carefully catalogued for later use, naturally -- and sometimes letting him work in silence. His mood soured as he thought of how she had fought with Sirius that first night. _I doubt she’d let me now. Probably chase me back upstairs or something._ He watched Remus scan the room briefly before he huffed out a vaguely annoyed sigh and summoned a couple of tomatoes from some hidden corner of the kitchen, grumbling something about a “miserable little bastard” and a few other words Harry didn’t quite catch that sounded like they may not have even been in English.

It occurred to him, in that moment, that other than knowing Remus was a brilliant teacher who used to be friends with his father and also happened to be a werewolf, he knew next to nothing about the man.

_Well. That stops today._

“What did you do before you taught at Hogwarts?” The question seemed to catch Remus off-guard; he nearly dropped the carton of eggs he had been trying to hand to Harry.

“Odd jobs, here and there… tutoring,” he said carefully. “Nothing really permanent. I was on the move a lot.” Harry frowned as he cracked the eggs into the pan. He knew without Remus saying that it was because of his lycanthropy.

“What was your favorite job?”

“... I spent a few months teaching at some school in Scotland. That was far and away my favorite, it was.” He sounded wistful. “I miss it, really.”

“We miss you, for certain. You’re the best professor we’ve ever had, you know.” Remus huffed out a laugh at that, shaking his head as he pulled out a cutting board and a large kitchen knife.

“Harry, given the previous two professors you had… that bar was so low I would have needed a shovel to do worse.”

“Well, yeah, if I was only talking about Defense. But I’m not.” He saw Remus pause out of the corner of his eye, knife hovering over the tomato briefly before he began slicing it a bit more deliberately than Harry might have done himself.

“I think you might be a bit biased.” Harry nodded, turning the eggs in the pan.

“Granted. But it’s not just me, is it? Everyone thought you were brilliant.”

“Harry--”

“No.” He slapped the turner down on the counter and whirled around to look Remus directly in the eyes. “You listen, alright? Remember the first lesson you had with my year? With the boggart?” Remus nodded weakly. “Right. Well, you did a really big thing for Neville that day, Remus. All the other professors had already written him off as hopeless, you know? Like he’s some bumbling idiot, and he’s _not_ , you know? They’re not all arseholes about it like Snape is, but they don’t go out of their way to help him build his confidence like you did. And you didn’t hide behind an office door to do it, you publicly declared his worth in front of everyone in the year, and in front of Snape. You got him to demonstrate it, even, to everyone and to himself. And that bloody well meant something.” Remus stared at him, his expression wide-eyed and open in a way he’d never seen. Harry realized he’d never really looked at Remus before, beyond the tired expression and the scars. He could see a faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He looked… strangely young. He turned back to the pan, picking the turner back up and feeling self-conscious about his outburst.

“I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to--”

“I mean I figured you weren’t doing it on purpose. That sort of thing is just second nature for you, seems like, since you were like that for everyone. You didn’t keep us at arms’ length, and you were interested -- actually _interested_ \-- in what we had to say. You treated us like _people_. Neville's been doing loads better in all his classes since you did that for him, you know? And I mean, Terry Boot used to _hate_ Defense until you taught it, and last term he was in the top five for the year. And Cedric--” He broke off, swallowing hard. “Cedric mentioned that you once helped him with his Transfiguration homework when he got stuck on something. You explained it to him in a way that Professor McGonagall hadn’t been able to get across without confusing him more.”

“Inanimate to fully animate transfiguration… I remember that one.”

“He used that in the first task, you know? Transfigured a rock into a dog. Worked pretty well. Got an O on that essay, too, from what he said.”

“It was an old trick of your Dad’s I remembered, if you can believe that. But I’m glad it helped him.” Harry pushed down the upswell of emotion rising in his throat, and put a healthy portion of rashers in the pan.

“Anyway. Point is, you're a brilliant teacher, and you had an impact on a lot of us. A positive one. And you’re missed by a lot of students, furry problem and all.” There was a long silence between them, broken only by the crackling of the bacon in the pan. Remus sighed.

“Well. _Shit_.”

Harry laughed before he could stop himself-- _I mean really, he was just so bloody emphatic about it, wasn’t he?_ \--and Remus was laughing with him, the heaviness of their discussion draining from their shoulders as he bumped his against Harry’s, and set back to slicing the tomatoes with significantly less tension.

Harry heard footsteps behind them, turning to see Sirius trudging sleepily into the kitchen. He blinked around, taking in the scene before him, and then smiled, winking at Harry before snaking his arms around Remus’ waist, perching his chin on his shoulder. Remus sighed again, this time in an entirely resigned sort of way that indicated this sort of thing was a regular occurrence between them. Harry didn’t doubt that; over the past few days, he’d learned that Sirius, while mercurial, was also very physically affectionate.

It was taking some getting used to, but Harry didn’t mind.

“If you make me slip up and cut myself, I will take this knife and peel you like a potato.”

“Have you had a coffee yet, you moody bastard?”

“ _Yes_ , I’ve had a bloody coffee, you tosspot. More importantly, how are you so _awake_ right now? It's hardly six in the morning, it is.”

“Because you're making _breakfast_. You haven't made breakfast in _weeks_."

"Yes, well, Molly's been doing a fine job keeping us all fed, like."

"Yes, but _she_ doesn't know how I take my tea."

"That's because you don't drink tea, you drink hot sugared milk that perhaps saw a teabag once, in passing."

"I'm sorry, is that judgement I hear? You know, I can't help that I like my tea disgustingly sweet and pasty white, just how I like my--"

Whatever it was Sirius liked was muffled as Remus shoved a slice of tomato into his mouth.

"Far too early to be chopsing a man with a knife in his hand, Padfoot."

"'Oo wou'nt."

"No, I suppose you're right. S'not worth all the paperwork." Harry bit his lip, trying to stifle his laughter. 

"I' no'at mu'h pape'wor!"

"For fucks sake, man, _swallow_."

"Don't need to tell _me_ twice; I'm a gentleman after all." Remus’ cheeks went curiously pink at this.

"I can't tell, seeing as you act like you were raised by Cornish pixies."

"Better than being raised by Keats and Shelley."

"I'm detecting an implication here."

"Pixies are significantly less musty."

“And here I thought you appreciated my taste in poetry.”

“Moony, it wasn’t your taste in poetry I appreciated, it was how you _performed_ it. Remember that time in sixth year you got piss drunk and stood atop a table in the common room--”

“Oh, we are _not_ telling this story.”

“-- _aggressively_ reciting some fuck-off long poem at the top of your bloody lungs--”

Remus set the cutting board and knife beside Harry with a deeply aggrieved sigh, dropping his chin to his chest, his fingers drumming impatiently along the countertop.

“--and after you finished, you shouted ‘ _Fuck off, Wallace!_ ’ because apparently George Wallace had challenged your encyclopedic knowledge of Lord Byron, and how _very_ dare he--”

“It was Coleridge, actually.”

“--whatever, and then you promptly keeled over and cracked your head open on the mantle, like an absolute bloody _legend_. And then we never let you live it down, of course.”

“Oh, _of course_.”

Harry snorted violently, trying and failing to mask it as a cough as he turned the frying tomatoes in the pan. Sirius was grinning widely over Remus’ shoulder, looking more cheerful than Harry had ever seen him.

“You know, Iron Maiden actually put out a song about that poem in ‘84, they did.”

“Did they _really_?” Remus nodded. “Have you got it on record? No, silly question, of course you have.”

“What do you mean, ‘of course you have?’ Am I a bloody record store?”

“For all practical purposes. Your music collection is as massive as your--”

“Well, _one of us_ had to have taste, and it certainly wasn’t _you_. Least not at first.”

“Coming from the man who thinks Stairway to Heaven was overrated.”

"Coming from the man who had never even _heard_ of Zeppelin until I started sharing my records with him."

"That's not--"

"They had other songs than that and Black Dog, you know."

"I _know_ they did; you used to make me sing Battle of Evermore with you every time it came on, you daft tit." Harry got the distinct impression that Remus chose to ignore that jab.

"...I haven't listened to Four in ages, come to think of it. Maybe I'll put it on today and we can embarrass ourselves in front of the children."

"And ruin my carefully curated punk image?"

"Oh, here we go."

"That's not very punk rock of you, Remus."

"Having to declare how punk you are at every opportunity isn't very punk rock either, and yet…"

"I don't need lessons on how to be punk from a sentient cardigan with an attitude problem." At this, Remus set the knife down with an incredulous expression and turned around slowly to face Sirius, who was still holding onto his waist; they were nearly nose to nose.

"Oh _I'm_ sorry, who was it again that revolutionized your musical tastes by introducing you to The Sex Pistols? Who snuck you lot into a Buzzcocks concert? Because James writes-his-name-on-the-insides-of-his-pants Potter had the musical taste of a turnip and if it wasn't written by The Hobgoblins, he didn't know it, _thank you_." He poked Sirius in the forehead to punctuate his point.

"Urgh, _Merlin_ , don't remind me. If I had to hear him play Howling For You one more _bloody_ time…”

And Harry's composure finally cracked.

\----------------------------------

Sometime after Harry had stopped laughing so hard he’d had tears streaming down his face and regained his ability to make sounds other than a high pitched wheeze, Remus was able to get Sirius to stop clinging to him like a barnacle and help them out with breakfast. This resulted in Remus swapping prep and cleaning duties with him so he could attend to making coffee and tea himself, since Sirius “can’t make a proper cuppa to save his life -- no, do not even _try_ to defend yourself, Pads, it’s _shameful_ , it is.” Mrs Weasley had also come in at some point and clucked at them for letting Harry cook, but Sirius had shrugged her off.

“It’s his house too, he can cook if he wants.”

Something in Harry warmed at that, and he shot a grateful look to his godfather. Sirius squeezed his shoulder before he continued on with mashing the potatoes, though perhaps slightly less viciously than a moment prior.

Harry had _not_ seen Remus standing at the table, fussing with the teacups and fixing Mrs Weasley with a decidedly gimlet stare, nor did Harry see her catch Remus’ expression and slowly back out of the kitchen, watching him carefully. 

He did, however, hear her say that she was going to wake everyone, and soon enough, the Weasley clan was thundering down the stairs and crowding around the table, exclaiming happily at the full spread.

Breakfast was a raucous affair, as anything involving the Weasleys tended to be, and they were joined by Kingsley, who graciously accepted a cup of coffee and some toast before he had to dash, and Tonks, who sat at the end of the table across from Remus and Sirius and piled her plate high with a little bit of everything.

“Molly, this is brilliant, thank you!”

“Oh! Well, erm… I’m afraid I can’t take credit for this one. Harry actually cooked this morning.” Tonks’ hair turned a sort of electric blue color, as she turned to face him, surprise written across her face. He blushed.

“Remus and Sirius helped,” he demurred, sinking into his seat slightly under the sudden scrutiny. Sirius snorted.

“ _Please_ , I only did the potatoes and Remus brewed coffee--”

“And?”

“-- _And_ prepped the tomatoes, yes, _thank you_ , Your Lordship-- anyway, Harry did most of the actual cooking.”

“Well... well done, then, Harry! Girls always appreciate a bloke who can cook." She punctuated this statement with a wink; he looked over to Remus for help, only to find the man staring rather intently at his plate, a hint of pink to his cheeks, Sirius looking both terribly amused and incredibly smug beside him.

A thought occurred to him.

"Thanks... though, you should ask Remus for his scone recipe sometime. He was telling me about it earlier, but we didn't have time to make them for breakfast, so he was going to show me how to make them for tea later." Tonks visibly brightened at that.

"Oooh, I _love_ scones. What sort are they? I've always been partial to the citrusy ones..."

"I think you were saying they were orange cranberry, right Remus?" He looked at Remus, raising an eyebrow at him pointedly.

"Erm... yes, it was."

"Brill! I should be back in time for afternoon tea; if it's alright I join you, that is?" She was looking at Remus hopefully; Harry saw his cheeks pink just a little bit more.

"Yes! Yes, of course. You're always welcome to join us. Consider it, erm... a _standing invitation_."

The moment Tonks left for her shift, Remus rounded on Harry.

"Harry, I haven't got a scone recipe."

"No, but I do." Sirius let out a bark of laughter at this.

"Harry, are you really trying to play wingman for Moony?" Harry frowned at him. _Did I overstep?_

"Well, I just had an idea and I thought it might work, so..." He howled with laughter even harder; Harry didn't understand what was so funny about it. His discomfort must have shown in his expression, because Sirius was reaching over to ruffle his hair.

"No, no, this is _brilliant_. I need to document every second of this." Remus flushed even harder, throwing two fingers up at Sirius, much to Mrs. Weasley's outrage (and everyone else's delight.)

"You stay the hell out of the kitchen, you absolute disaster." Sirius draped himself over Remus' shoulder, batting his eyes up at him.

"Yes, but I'm _your_ disaster." Remus rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"...Is it too late for returns?"

"Sorry, James sacrificed the goat ages ago, and Lily went through all five bushels of wheat during her baking spree in '79."

"Damn."

Sirius opened his mouth to fire back once more, but Mrs Weasley had enough of their antics by this point, standing up with a huff and promptly to march all her children -- plus Hermione and Harry -- upstairs to continue cleaning. She paused only to assure Remus that yes, she would be releasing Harry with ample time before tea. In between fighting a flock of cursed coat hangers and discovering that yes, the stain on the wall _was_ sentient, and maybe they shouldn't touch it, Ron turned to Harry and declared Remus and Sirius the coolest people he'd ever met.

"Absolutely barmy, of course, but still. They're funny as hell. You know Sirius used to be a curse breaker, like Bill?" He hadn't, actually, and the fact that Ron learned that first rather stung, but he pushed it down so as to not start another fight. Hermione, on the other hand, chided him for his attempt at matchmaking.

"I just think that if Professor Lupin were interested, he'd… you know, handle his own affairs. And it was really sort of rude of you to do that right in front of Sirius--"

"Sirius seemed to think it was funny."

"Well, he probably _would_ , all things considered, but-- Harry, don't you _see_?" Harry did _not_ see, but Hermione never got a chance to tell him what it was _she_ saw, because Sirius had called her into the hall briefly, and upon her return, she had simply blushed, saying "Oh, never mind that. I was being silly."

Remus wound up being a quick study, and managed to pull together a rather respectable batch of Aunt Petunia's scones -- though admittedly, Petunia had only ever wanted hers with lemon; wasn't that hard to switch out the flavors. He didn't know how tea between Remus and Tonks went, however, only that Sirius had shuttled the two of them into the drawing room by themselves while he and everyone else took tea in the kitchen -- Harry was relieved to see that he and Sirius seemed to be of a mind on this. Hermione's comment earlier in the day had left him feeling somewhat anxious about his godfather's opinion, so he was glad to see his concerns were unfounded.

Tonks didn't stay for dinner, which was a shame, but he thought he saw her kiss Remus on the cheek before she left. Sirius kept giving him very smug looks the rest of the night. Remus kept subtly flicking peas into the side of his head when he thought Mrs Weasley wasn't looking; Sirius retaliated by not-so-subtly dropping ice down the back of his shirt. Repeatedly. Remus had stabbed him in the arm with his fork (rather politely, Harry thought, all things considered) before Mr. Weasley mildly suggested Sirius switch places with Fred. The move only resulted in the two of them taking turns kicking each other under the table, apparently occasionally missing and catching the twins instead. The boys seemed to take it in stride, however, and simply started kicking each other as well to cover for them, snickering into their shepherd's pie (and also missing each other on occasion... _never_ on purpose, of course). Mrs Weasley wasn't as amused as the rest of the table, muttering something about pulling pigtails, but otherwise visibly biting her tongue to refrain from commenting.

All in all, it had been a very good day, he thought.

It wouldn't be until late that night, lying in bed, just drifting off to sleep, that he would even remember the hearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry should consider a career as a historian, because he'd be one of those guys saying ACHILLES AND PATROCLUS WERE JUST REALLY GOOD FRIENDS, GUYS. JUST TWO BROS, BRO-ING IT UP.
> 
> Sigh.
> 
> I don't mean to write him stupid, I swear. He's just got straight goggles on and it's not even registering in his brain that they COULD be together. I mean he was observant enough to catch on that Remus liked Dora, right? Right.
> 
> ... Sirius is having a blast with this. Just putting that out there.
> 
> I'd apologize for so much of my writing being banter between these two bastards, but _they basically write themselves_?? I'm literally just an avatar here, don't judge me.
> 
> Anyway, the poem that Remus screamed drunkenly at poor George Wallace is none other than Rime of the Ancient Mariner, which did indeed inspire a song by Iron Maiden. The song is nearly 14 minutes long, and while that does also leave room for guitar solos, it is significantly shorter than the EPIC POEM. Which Remus yelled at a guy. For presumably 14 minutes. Not on brand for Sober-Remus, but absolutely on brand for Drunken-Bastard-Remus.
> 
> Also, Battle of Evermore is my favorite Led Zeppelin song, because I'm a huge giant nerd that nerds, and Stairway to Heaven _is_ incredibly overrated. Still very good, of course, but far from even their objectively best song.


	6. Shut the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius is okay, most of the time. 
> 
> Mostly.
> 
> But sometimes everything just gets so LOUD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TW: first-person description of panic attack/disassociation, alcohol abuse, mention of past child abuse, mention of past drug abuse**   
> 
> 
> This one's not terribly long, but it's a doozy, folks.
> 
> ......

The thing that Sirius perhaps despised most about Grimmauld Place-- even more than the fact that the house was as poisonous as it appeared-- was the fact that his father's study was currently the only place in it that he could go for some peace and quiet. It was a sick sort of irony. The study, more than any other room in the house, was the scene of many of his worst childhood memories. It reminded him of long, uncomfortable lectures, flecks of spittle hitting his face, his fingers burning. Of feeling worthless -- violated -- while his mind was rummaged through like an old trunk. Of spitting blood all over the Persian rug, the sound (but curiously not the feeling) of his femur shattering. The hot white fire racing along his nerve endings from the Cruciatus. The knowledge, bitter and twisted as it was, that no one heard any of it outside this room no matter how loud he screamed.

Orion had valued silence as much as Sirius himself had always hated it, before.

But then Azkaban had been loud in ways he hadn't expected. Every breath, every movement, seemed to echo across the stone; even when the inmates went quiet--as they all did, eventually-- they were never _silent_. Shifting bodies, skin, fabric, _fingernails_ scratching on stone. The rattling breaths of the dementors as they passed, brittle as boots on frost. The wind as it howled through the windows, the crash and swell of the sea (the sea, _the sea_.)

He used to love the sea. Used to be it reminded him of summers at Remus', Mrs. Lupin driving them all down to Swansea so they could eat fish and chips by the seaside, toes in the sand, chasing off seabirds and flirting wildly with every girl on the beach. But he had spent twelve years with nothing but the sound and smell of the sea to keep him company (outside the dementors, and the screaming) and he hadn't thought he'd ever want to set foot on a beach again. He had been apprehensive, at first, when Remus had taken him to Belize. He'd been up all night at first, listening to the waves hissing along the sands, fingers knotted in his sheets as he waited for the rattling, for the screams. But eventually he realized the smell was different, and the way the waves crashed against the beach--warm white sand, not cold-blackened stone-- was softer. He could smell trees and flowers, hear the chirping of insects and birds, feel the warmth in the air, and it grounded him, made him feel safe.

His bed was warm too, and smelled like Remus, and was safer still.

The ice clinked in the tumbler as he lifted it to his lips, and he lifted his gaze from the swinging pendulum to the face of the grandfather clock in the corner.

_Almost eleven. He should be on his way back now._

Thinking back to the note resting on the kitchen table (that had arrived half an hour after Arthur and Harry had left, likely by design, the bastards), he hoped that what he and Remus had prepped Harry with was enough. That Albus was good on his word.

He knew that as much as Harry wanted to come and live with him in the event he was expelled -- which he truly didn't want to happen, as much as he missed the boy -- Albus would never allow it.

_"The protection spells surrounding his aunt's home are far and beyond anything that we could conjure. Even your home, Sirius, would not be able to protect him sufficiently. Especially now, with Voldemort and his ilk growing in strength by the day. I'm sorry, my boy."_

It wasn't good enough for him, but he'd had no other choice but to swallow it. For now. There was something deeply wrong with the Dursleys, if Harry wanted so desperately to leave them that he'd willingly lock himself up in this moldering house of horrors with him. _So much that he'd jump at the chance to live with a strange man who he had thought less than an hour prior wanted to kill him._ The familiarity unsettled him, deep in his bones. He understood it. He didn't _want_ to understand it.

_I promised (JamesLilyRemus) I'd keep you safe, but how safe are you really? How can I protect you from here?_

Of course that was all assuming they'd leave it at simply expelling him. Godric knew they'd probably _love_ to throw him away in St Mungo's and just leave him there to rot. A fifteen year old boy they'd decided was a greater threat to the wizarding world than the dark lord he'd tried to warn them about. The boy whose good name they'd been dragging through the mud in the papers. It was sick… so _fucking_ sick.

His glass was empty again.

The clock chimed, and there was a gentle knock at the door, a familiar trio of quick raps. _Ma-rau-ders_. As always, Remus didn't wait for a response before sliding into the room quickly and carefully, minimizing the amount of time the sanctum was exposed to the cacophony of Weasleys. (It was uncharitable, he knew, but he wasn't feeling particularly charitable today.)

"I got a hold of Albus. They let him off."

"They'd have been fools not to. He did nothing wrong."

"Yes, well." The knowledge that innocence meant nothing in the eyes of the ministry hung heavy in the air between them. All that mattered was perception, and the ministry-- and thus the wizarding public-- perceived a _fifteen year old boy_ as a threat.

_Not so far a cry from considering a baby a threat, Pads--_

_Shut up shut up shut UP._

Sirius regretted not refilling the glass before Remus had opened the door; if he did it in front of him, he’d have to see Remus go all frowny about the eyes again, and he wasn’t sure he could take that right now.

"Did he say how bad it was?"

"Harry apparently did a fantastic job advocating for himself, though he did manage to suggest that the ministry sent the dementors in the first place." Sirius let out a low whistle at that. "And he took my advice, apparently, about using the muggle justice system as an example."

"Oh, they must have loved him."

"Made half the Wizengamot rather uncomfortable. Albus was rather amused about it when I spoke with him."

"The Wizengamot? It was only a disciplinary hearing!" Remus met his gaze gravely as he sat down in the chair beside him, twining their fingers together.

"You know nothing is ever 'only' anything when it comes to Harry." He thought back to the note from earlier. To courtroom ten.

_Full Wizengamot in a criminal courtroom… that was no disciplinary hearing._ Cold realization flooded him, chilled him.

"Remus. Do you think…?" He couldn't voice it, could hardly think. Remus was watching him carefully.

"I think Fudge is just desperate enough to try."

_He's fifteen… fifteen!_

His fingers found a hole in the sleeve of his jumper and started worrying at the edges.

White noise filled his head, he couldn't _think_ , felt like his veins were filled with ice, sharp and cold, cold enough to burn. He felt stretched thin, quivering like dew on spider silk. He felt _wrong_.

_It wasn't supposed to be like this._

He wanted to say something, to shout and scream and rage about how unfair it was that their boy -- their 

_boy! Merlin, the lungs on this one! Takes after mummy, clearly. -- Sirius, I'm too exhausted to tell you to fuck off properly, so just imagine I did. Ta, love. -- Look how fucking tiny he is, Prongs! I could almost juggle him, like -- Remus please don't juggle our son before I've even gotten to hold him -- I wouldn't actually! Iesu Mawr! I was only saying, wasn't I? Sirius, cariad, here, take your godson before Jamie's face gets stuck like that -- Here, I've got you now Harry. I'll keep you --_

safe, he promised, he _promised_ , but he fucked up (the rat the rat _the rat_ ) and they put him away without even _looking_ and they were going to do the same to 

_no no no no he's fifteen he's only fifteen please he's a child_

They took him away on his name, Black as his family's reputation, _toujours pur, connerie_ , and his family, his _real_ family, they were all--

_red -- James' jumper, with the hole in the sleeve, behind the coffee table-- Lily's hair over her face at the foot of the cot -- blood, blood on the cot, blood on Harry's face -- Remus' face as he shouted, slamming the door as he left -- blood, blood on the streets, blood on Pete's hand -- the spell that flashed from Pete's wand, ringing in his ears, and rage, rage, rage -- the robes of the Aurors that dragged him away, laughingscreamingcrying--_

He wanted to scream, to hit something, but he couldn't fucking _move_

The edges were fraying, were _fraying_ , were fraying, fraying the edges the

Soft circles on the back of his hand, warm, steady-- Remus. Sandalwood and cigarettes, and freshly brewed tea, warm jumpers and

_\-- a good book in front of the fire, obviously. Does that not sound like a nice night in to you? -- I dunno, I'd much prefer that jumper if it were on the floor. -- That was the worst pick up line. Pretty sure your ancestors are collectively rolling in their graves. -- Good, fuck em. -- Merlin, Sirius, you're always so_

_stubborn, why won't you just admit -- I don't need any bloody help, Remus -- Yes, because you're clearly_

_fine! If that's how you want it to be, then... fine! -- Doesn't matter what I want, does it? It's how it is! Now go on, leave! It's what you do best, after all! -- FUCK YOU! -- GET OUT!_

The hole in his sleeve was nearly big enough to put his fist through now. _I liked this one, damn it._ The things he liked always ended up ruined in the end.

Remus was talking to him, voice soft and low, pulling something heavy around his shoulders. Soft and warm, like Remus in the mornings, counting freckles on his nose, sun threading gold through his hair, tracing lines down his cheek, looking at him like he was the universe.

"-- apparently, and her mother's been taking the piss. Only met Andromeda once or twice, but I remember she had a particularly irreverent brand of humor that even got _you_ to blush a few times like, so I imagine Dora wanted to stick her head in the oven before pudding. I'd have done in her position, anyway. 'Course, that's not saying much -- that's just me after any human interaction, isn't it? 'Side from you. Happen to like talking to you quite a bit, I do." Beat. " _There_ you are, cariad... just breathe for me, yeah?"

He took a deep (shaky) breath. In, eight, out, eight, just like Remus had taught him.

Once,

twice,

three times.

"...I can't see you."

"I've turned the lights off, I have. Here…" Remus cast his fairy lights, just enough of a glow -- soft and warm -- to see him kneeling in front of him.

"I'm on the floor."

"You are." Very matter-of-fact, his Remus.

"With a blanket."

"Yes. Is it helping?" Soft and warm, like Remus in the mornings. _Safe._ He made a vague, affirmative noise.

Remus was still holding his hands, thumbs rubbing small circles into the backs. Gentle but steady, like he was. The repetition was soothing.

In, eight, out, eight.

_Safe._

_Safe._

_Safe._

"Time?"

"Quarter after." He hadn't lost much time then, this go 'round. He nodded.

"Harry?"

Remus shook his head, a few loose curls falling across his brow.

"Not yet; Arthur sent a message along that they're on their way. You've got some time."

He lifted Remus' hands up to his lips, pressing soft kisses against his knuckles. Remus quietly rested his forehead against Sirius', brushing the tips of their noses together. He didn't know how long they sat there on the floor of the darkened study, listening to each other breathe. He just knew he needed it.

_Needed you, and you'd promised you'd stay, and you did, you are._

"I think this house is killing me." Remus watched him steadily, knowing, somehow, not to speak. "I could swear some nights I hear the walls _whispering_ to me and I don't know if I'm just... _remembering_ things or if I'm finally going mad, but I…"

He couldn't read Remus' expression in the half-light.

_That's it, Sirius, he knows you've lost the plot now. Maybe he can make sure they get you the bed next to the Longbottoms; at least be around some friendly faces._

"You're not imagining things, I don't think." For a moment he thought he'd misheard, Remus had spoken so softly, and he finally placed the look in his eyes: unsettled. Perhaps a little afraid. "There's something about this house. I can't really explain it, I can just… I dunno. Feel it? It's skirting 'round the edges of my consciousness most days, but I can feel _something_. Like a weight on my chest... makes me anxious, like. Makes me feel like I'm back _there_ again, sometimes."

Back in the tent, he realized, surrounded by his ghosts, smoke-hazed and opium-sweet, waking up in a flooded bath -- _It's a miracle I didn't drown. My legs were too long to let me slip under, I suppose, but it fucking scares me how much that didn't scare me, you know?_ \-- the coffee table catching fire from the candle he'd left burning, feeling everything and nothing all at once, and he understood. He didn't _want_ to understand.

_It feels like Azkaban here but it shouldn't and I don't know why._

"It feels like if I stay here I'm going to disappear. Like it's going to claw away at me until there's nothing left." Remus hummed with agreement. "I don't want to disappear, Remus."

"Then don't." The words echoed back at him, reminding him of a kinder time under different fairy lights, a different blanket, of hazel eyes looking up at him above a razor-sharp grin, all mischief.

He missed them. He missed them so much.

"Easier said than done."

"I know. But I'm not going anywhere." Lips brushed against his forehead. "I'll be here to hold you together, no matter what."

Sirius felt himself nodding. Remus was the only constant, the lodestar when all else in his life -- in his _mind_ \-- was falling apart, shattering like waves against the rocks. _I can't trust me, so I'll trust you._

"I think I have to clear my name." He felt something in his chest steady at the words as he spoke them aloud for the first time. "But without Peter…" (the rat the rat _the rat_ ) 

"We'll find a way to do it without him."

" _How?_ "

Remus pulled away, his eyes blazing with purpose in a way that Sirius hadn't seen in _years_.

"There will be something in the laws we can use, surely. Some precedent, a loophole or something we can exploit." He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth absentmindedly; Sirius could practically see the gears turning. "We'll have to look at your file, see exactly what statute you were convicted under. That'll give us a direction to start in, at least. I'll ask Dora and Kingsley if they can pass us anything. Copies, if nothing else."

"And if we find something?"

"Then we find a way to get it under the right person's nose. If I have to stick a copy of your file to my chest and run through the atrium starkers to get someone to look, I'll bloody well make it happen." Sirius huffed out a laugh, the smile he cracked feeling utterly foreign on his face.

_How anyone ever thought you weren't an equal partner in all our antics... they clearly never knew you._

"You'd never." Remus pressed another kiss to his brow.

"I would for you."

The last knot of tension in his shoulders released.

It was a direction. It was a start.

He slipped his arms around Remus' waist, pulling him closer, resting his head against his shoulder, feeling, more than hearing, his heart beating steadily against his cheek, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. _Here. Alive._ Remus pressed his cheek against the top of Sirius' head, nuzzling gently. A small smile played at the corners of Sirius' mouth. _He fancies himself subtle. I see you, Moony._

He knew Remus saw him too.

Later, he'd hang back and listen to Harry recount the tale of his hearing, and he'd plaster on his best smile and be happy for him -- and he was, and so very proud of him, even if it was hard to show some days. 

Later, he'd sit down to dinner with his family and the three dozen Weasleys he'd invited into his mother's house, and he'd push past the shaky, hollow feeling in his chest that would take hours to fade. 

Later, he'd tease Remus about Dora kissing him and try not to think about how anxious he was about how things were _changing_ , because he wanted this, he _did_.

Later, he'd ask Remus to tie him down, so he didn't have to _think_ , so he could remind him -- remind himself -- who he was, so he could feel like he had a place he belonged beyond the crumbling walls of this old house.

For now, though, Sirius let Remus hold him on the floor of the study, rocking slowly, listening to their hearts beating, just breathing together in the dark.

In, eight, out, eight.

_I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius' panic attack and how he handles it is based (loosely) off personal experience, as are the coping mechanisms employed both him and Remus. Bonus points to whoever can unpack what's going on there (this is partially because I want to make sure that I got the way it feels across accurately, not gonna lie.)
> 
> I have a headcanon that in the Marauders, Remus was actually the idea man (often unintentionally). Sirius and James were the ones that would latch onto every errant thought he voiced and figured out how to make it reality. Peter was the set up guy, either setting things up himself or causing distractions to allow the others to handle the fussier operations. Basically, that the Marauders became the prank kings they were because they just wanted to make Remus smile.
> 
> Title song is "Shut the Door" - Fugazi.


	7. If I Was Born As A Blackthorn Tree*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is starting to get really sick and tired of things not going his way. (Just once -- just ONE EFFING DAY -- that's all he's asking.) 
> 
> He's also getting really, _really_ tired of taking it all sitting down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative chapter title: Remus Lupin and the Audacity of This Bitch.
> 
>  **CW: There's sexual content in this chapter, folks.** There's some over-the-clothes stuff, and some drive-by mentions of kink. Consider yourself warned! It isn't the focus of the section, so there's a lot of plot and exposition going on around it, but if you'd prefer to skip over it entirely, stop at the standalone _Yes._ and pick back up at "Maybe Lupin could shed some light on the situation, hmm?" I'm trying to make a conscious effort to keep this rated M. I'll be marking all chapters containing sexual content with a little asterisk in the future, and you can see in the notes where you need to avoid.
> 
> It's also been a minute since I've updated (3 months, ouch), so to make up for that I've written a chapter that's, ehhh (checks notes) _long as fuck_. Hopefully the wait was worth it! Enjoy!
> 
> Music recommendations for this chapter:
> 
> NFWMB - Hozier (from which the title is taken)  
> What Difference Does It Make - The Smiths  
> Would That I - Hozier  
> You Are The Everything - R.E.M  
> Hairshirt - R.E.M
> 
> (By the way, since this bears stating: _Fuck TERFs._ )

It was the third Order meeting this week, and Remus was, frankly, _annoyed_. They weren't even supposed to have been meeting at all the rest of the week, let alone _today_ (of all days), and first thing in the bleeding morning, at that. But apparently _someone_ had come back from his homeowner’s association meeting the night before and had _updates_. He'd been planning on making waffles later that morning, but brunch was scuppered the moment the message came, with only a half hour warning. They hadn't even been fully awake yet. Twenty-five minutes, two hasty showers, and several slices of burnt toast later, they were sat at the kitchen table with the rest of their sorry crew, and all Remus wanted was to climb back into bed.

“Severus, what news do you have?” 

At Dumbledore’s prompt, the slimy bastard rose from his seat, crossing his arms and surveying all assembled with poorly concealed distaste. He locked eyes with Sirius, a self-important sneer spreading across his sallow face, and it was all Remus could do to keep from screaming.

_Here we bloody go again._

Remus didn’t know _why_ Snape insisted on maintaining this petty, childish rivalry. He could understand not liking them -- hell, he’d even say dislike was _warranted_. (It was certainly reciprocated.) However, the fact remained that they were thirty-five effing years old now, and Snape was still shooting them both nasty looks and barbs like they were thirteen, and Sirius -- dependable to a fault -- still rose gallantly to the occasion every _fucking_ time.

_Snape is uncommonly dedicated to making people as miserable as he is._

His eyes flicked to Sirius; _his_ feelings, at least, Remus could sympathize with. After all, Snape _had_ tried to feed them both to the dementors only a little more than a year ago.

_And the bastard still has the audacity to play the victim over bait he was stupid enough to take twenty years ago… at least Sirius didn’t intend on feeding him to me, just hoped the tree would do the job like. Though, fuck me, do I wish he’d gotten just a little farther in. Suppose I’m getting spiteful in my old age, I am._

Although, there was the _small_ matter of Snape having made his status as a werewolf public, which _naturally_ made its way into the Ministry grapevine (thank you, Slytherin house) and into the ear of one Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minster. Charming witch, she was. They’d be voting on that new law of hers any day now -- banning werewolves outright from any position where they’d be in contact with children, as well as from taking jobs in the Muggle world. Punishable by anything between six years in Azkaban to immediate execution, depending on how your Ministry representative was feeling that day. All under the guise of ‘safety.’ All because Severus _fucking_ Snape had himself a strop over his lost (and entirely undeserved) Order of Merlin.

Not that Remus was bitter about this _at all_.

Beside him, Sirius was tearing pieces off of the corner of a length of parchment and shredding them into impossibly tiny bits. He’d already been on edge recently -- they _both_ had truthfully -- and Snape opening his report with backhanded barbs was certainly not improving anyone’s sour mood. 

_'How'd you spend your anniversary, Remus?' Oh, I just watched the man I love more than my own life get torn apart all morning and couldn't do jack or shit about it, and then spent the remainder brooding ourselves into a proper drunk and passing out on the floor. It was lush, it was, really._

Well. That was _one_ option, anyway. But Remus wasn't a Marauder in name only.

He glanced around the table; both of Moody’s eyes were fixed on Snape’s face, glowering at him fiercely. Nearly everyone else was either engrossed in the report, taking notes, or (as in Dung’s case) definitely _not_ asleep. Dora met his gaze from across the table, and rolled her eyes, miming shooting herself in the head. _Someone's got the right of it at least._ He winked at her, and she graced him with a bright grin in return before halfway turning her attention back to the other end of the table.

Other than Dora, no one seemed to be paying them any mind at all. _Perfect._

He dropped his hand below the table and rested it on Sirius’ knee. There was a brief pause in the paper shredding as Sirius registered his touch. Remus tapped his leg twice in question. _Yes or no?_ Sirius made a show of quietly clearing up the pile of confetti he’d made from his parchment, and rested his hands on the table, fingers drumming for a moment and then-- two fingers, two light taps on the wood.

_Yes._

Remus kept his expression neutral as he slid his hand up Sirius’ inseam, feeling his thighs spread gently, just far enough to give him access, but not far enough to draw notice. Sirius' breathing remained perfectly steady while Remus palmed him over his trousers: he knew the rules, and he was _very_ good at following them, when he wanted to. Remus traced the tip of his pencil along the parchment in front of him, jotting down a note to pick up strawberry jam from the market later; he’d polished off the last of it that morning.

Dora subtly slid a scrap of parchment across the table to him, a note scrawled in vibrant purple ink:

_What are you up to, Wolfie?_

She was onto him. Remus wasn't terribly shocked; he flattered himself to think he was at least _marginally_ more interesting than Snape, anyway. Dora was bound to notice something eventually if they carried on, observant as she was. Remus would immediately stop if she asked, but… he had a feeling. He wrote back quickly but carefully, wandlessly switching the note with a stray hair he'd spotted on the breast pocket of her denim vest. She blinked down at it, surprised.

_Your sleight of hand needs some work, Miss Tonks. If you're not more careful, you'll get caught._

“... I’m certain that Yaxley is angling for a position within the Ministry that will allow him access to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement -- the Auror office, in particular.” Remus frowned, angling for position himself.

“Are they targeting Aurors for the Imperius?”

“Not yet, no.” Snape smirked mirthlessly. “He’s attempting to identify _useful_ elements within the department. Who can be turned, who can be Imperiused, and who is simply an obstacle to be... _removed_.” His dark eyes cut to Dora; Sirius let out a sharp hiss as Remus gave him a particularly rough stroke. _Oops_. “Something to add, Black?”

Remus tilted his head towards Sirius without releasing his grip, thumb brushing firmly but slowly along his length, keeping his arm perfectly still. Sirius’ face betrayed nothing as he shook his head with a falsely cheerful smile.

“Oh, no. Don’t let _me_ interrupt.” Sirius twisted his hand artfully, gesturing for Severus to continue. Remus dropped his gaze from the line of Sirius' wrist back down to his notes -- consisting of little more than a couple of slightly smudged mandalas and a grocery list -- and added a line beneath the dark roast coffee and strawberry jam.

_Collar -- Shop on Chapel Market_

“Of course.” Snape drawled, turning back to the rest of the table and ignoring Sirius entirely. “As I was saying, I don’t believe they will begin infiltrating in earnest for several months yet…”

This time, the note appeared in front of him.

_Show off. Suppose you know all about not getting caught, then?_

She was teasing him. _Interesting_. He tilted his head slightly, his only outward acknowledgement as he wrote back, this time switching the note with one of her pins. Pennywise, he noted approvingly. She had good taste.

_What can I say? I am a man of many talents._

Remus began sketching another mandala, this time a set of concentric circles with a Celtic knotwork pattern. He loved knotwork. It looked pretty on paper, and even better trailing down Sirius’ back: red rope made for a striking contrast against his tattoos. Remus paused, tapping the eraser against his lips. _I'll have to see how he's feeling later tonight. I've got some ideas._

Snape carried on about his observations and contacts, condescension oozing from every pore, every syllable crafted into a dagger to fling at Sirius. It was entirely possible Remus was reading too much into his tone, of course, but he couldn’t help it. Snape just had one of those _faces_ , like a sign tacked to his forehead that said ‘In case of twatty behavior, please break nose.’ Certainly didn’t help he kept casting smug, side-eyed glances in Sirius’ direction every time he presented a new tidbit of information. _Does he want a fucking biscuit?_ Remus resisted the urge to growl at him -- with immense effort -- instead focusing on a slight increase in pace and pressure, intent on countering the venom with the only remedy he had on hand. _Or rather, in hand._ To his right, Sirius’s stare was burning a hole in the wallpaper, his hands worrying at the parchment again. He was subtly chewing on his bottom lip.

Dora was watching Sirius, an expression of amusement on her face, and well -- that just wouldn’t do. Remus caught her eye again, lifting a finger to his lips. Comprehension dawned on her face, and she gave a tiny nod, mischief dancing in her eyes. He was rather pleased by the fact that she was willing to play along; it boded well. They shared a small, secretive smile before they both returned their attention to the Very Important Report.

Remus supposed he _should_ be paying better attention; the man was their only direct line into the Death Eater camp, and his information was (technically) invaluable. It was a pity Remus couldn’t bear listening to Snape speak for more than a few moments at a time without wanting to light himself on fire. His voice had an unparalleled capacity to set Remus' teeth on edge. He was likely the only person in the room that disliked Snape more than Sirius -- not that anyone _else_ seemed to realize that. Remus didn’t have a poker face so much as he had a habit of playing nice with his food before he ate it.

_'Oh, Lupin's such a sweet man, he never loses his temper, not like Sirius.' Meanwhile I'm fucking him under the table right now because not one of you has the balls to call Snape out when he has a go at him like this, and as my hands are tied, this is all I can do._

Sirius folded his hands together, propping his elbows on the table as he pressed his knuckles hard against his lips. He sucked in a long, deep breath through his nose, exhaling slowly with a soft hiss. His pale grey eyes were fixed on the table, studying the woodgrain intently and trying his damnedest not to lose his composure.

There was a small commotion at the other end of the table; Arthur was asking for clarification on Malfoy's movements again. Molly was tugging on his sleeve --"For Merlin's sake, Arthur, just _leave it_!"-- but he was barreling through regardless, bless him. The man had such a one-track mind. The Weasleys had returned to the Burrow for the time being, now that the kids were all back at Hogwarts, so he and Sirius would be on their own for dinner. _Think I'll make pasta tonight. Meatballs, perhaps._ He slipped his hand farther up, and then _down_ , gripping gently. _Two veg_. Sirius' eyes drifted shut.

"Fucking hell," he breathed, scarcely loud enough for even Remus to hear over the uproar.

The note reappeared, swapping with his own parchment, and interrupting his drawing.

_Colour me intrigued._

His eyes snapped up to Dora's face; she was tracing the lines of the circles he'd drawn with her fingertips, weaving delicately along the knotwork, studying it, as he studied her. A pierced brow rose slowly, rosy lips parting as she mouthed 'collar' silently. Her eyes rose to meet his, cheeks slightly pinked, biting at the black ring in her bottom lip. He wrestled with himself for the span of a heartbeat before he threw caution to the wind, casting a quick Protean charm and swapping their parchments back with a covert gesture. She frowned down at the empty paper until he started writing again.

_Something catch your eye?_

She blinked down at his message for a moment, glancing up at him; he kept his face turned towards Snape, who had regained the floor, pretending to listen while watching his parchment out of the corner of his eye. Her script unfurled, curling like smoke across the previously blank page, warming his insides.

_Might have. You've got more layers than I thought, Lupin._

Sirius was rapidly approaching his breaking point -- his breathing was rather _deliberately_ even, his trembling hands clenched tightly into fists-- and Remus was feeling rather bold.

_I could stand to have a few less, if you'd prefer._

He was not disappointed: Dora flushed brilliantly for a brief, beautiful moment before she was able to get her features back under control.

_You won't._

A challenge. Well, he _had_ to, now.

_Bet me._

Both her eyebrows disappeared behind her bubblegum pink fringe, and she pursed her lips, clearly disbelieving. 

_5s._

Remus bit back a grin, reaching up with one hand and opening the top two buttons of his shirt without looking up. Sirius was gripping his wrist under the table, fingers digging into his skin, eyes on his collarbone as Remus rubbed his neck as though working out a particularly stubborn kink. Dora was staring at him openly, hazel eyes wide, knowing full well what he was doing and why. 

The meeting had just become infinitely more entertaining. He was--

"Maybe Lupin could shed some light on the situation, hmm?" Moody's gruff voice burst through the haze of adrenaline, derailing his train of thought entirely. His hand slid back up to the top of Sirius' thigh, fingers drumming frustratedly. Moody's magical eye flicked down to the table. 

Remus flipped him off, and pulled his hand away with a deep sigh.

_Well that went south quickly._

"I don't know how much help I can really be, given how disconnected I've been over the past decade." He shrugged, leaning forward onto his elbows and rolling up his sleeves. "There's been a great deal of changes since the last war, and none of them in our favor." Snape sniffed at Remus, beady black eyes fixed on his forearm. He’d noticed the lilies tattooed there. _Good. Fuck you._

“I'm aware that He’s brought Greyback into the fold once more, but not much else, I’m afraid. The Dark Lord doesn’t tend to keep His _pets_ on hand for meetings, though I'd say at least _His_ have some use.” Sirius leaned back in his seat, steepling his fingers as he pinned Snape with a steely glare.

“What are you implying, exactly?” His voice was remarkably even, the desire and frustration Remus could still smell on him masked behind a dangerously soft undertone. He shot Sirius a warning look.

“There's no need to be coy about it; Severus disagrees with my decision to remain in a research and development role.” Remus cocked his head at the other man challengingly, daring him to comment. Snape sneered at him.

“I simply think it’s a waste of resources for the only werewolf in the Order to spend his time on tasks that could be delegated to…” His eyes flicked to Sirius. “ _Others_ , who apparently have ample time on their hands.” Remus gritted his teeth; Sirius leaned forward, growling slightly.

“How thoughtful.”

"Well," Dedalus broke in, attempting to defuse the powderkeg that was every Black-Snape interaction. "I'm afraid I may have to agree with Severus. We _do_ have several capable researchers among our number who would be well able to--"

"None of whom are even half as capable as Remus at putting their findings together in a coherent fashion, nor as quickly," Arthur interjected with a deferential nod towards Remus. He felt the echoes of a wave of affection for the older man; had he not been so furious, he might have been able to focus on it enough to bring himself back down.

The discussion continued back and forth around him, _without_ him, for several long moments, as they discussed his usefulness to the Order as a proper wizard, rather than a beast.

Remus looked down at his hands, trying to settle his temper; his left hand had graphite smudged all over the side. An irrational spike of anger shot through his chest at the sight. _Not enough to be the Order's token queer werewolf, let's just make me left-handed too, just for the added frustration. Great idea, God. Ta for that, ya fucking prick._

Remus pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, placing it between his lips and lighting it. He took a long drag, ignoring Molly's disapproving glare as he exhaled, careful to aim the smoke away from Dora.

_Not even ten and the day's already shot to hell._

“This is bollocks!” Dora spat, slamming her fists down on the table with a loud bang, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Just because Remus is a werewolf doesn’t mean he _has_ to go tromp about in the woods with other werewolves. I mean, like…” She gestured to herself. “Just because I’ve got baps doesn’t mean I want to go painting my toenails and gossiping over tea and biscuits with Emmie and Hestia -- no offense, loves.” Emmeline waved her off.

“None taken.” Dora nodded, leaning back in her chair to twirl her wand around her fingers angrily; she dropped it, and it shot sparks across the table, knocking Dedalus’ stupid hat off his head. She mouthed an apology to him, picking it back up and clearing her throat.

“ _Anyway_ , if Remus was offering to do it -- like Hagrid with the giants -- that’s one thing. But he’s not.” She glared up at Snape. “He’s a _person_ , just like you or me. We've all got our hang ups and our hard no's. Remus has his. We ought to respect them.”

"If he’s too much of a coward to do what must be done--” Dora raised her chin defiantly.

“If he’s a coward, then what does that make you?” Snape’s face drained of what little color it held.

“You _dare_ \--”

“ _You_ dare.”

“Nymphadora,” Dumbledore warned, finally speaking up.

“No.” She rose from her seat, her hair and eyes shifting black, straight-backed and proud. “You’ve sat back all morning -- and through every single meeting that he’s been present for til now -- while he’s thrown his nasty little comments around and shit all over a pair of uncommonly brilliant wizards for no good reason, and that stops today.”

“No good--?” She pointed a warning finger at Snape.

“Shut it. _I’ve_ got the conch.” Emmeline let out a vague giggle at the reference; Remus felt oddly giddy. _Is this actually happening?_ Dora was still facing down Dumbledore and Snape both, a tiny technicolor valkyrie in denim and Docs. “I don't give a damn what your justification is, we're trying to fight a bloody war here, and if you can't figure out a way to get what you need without forcing us to abandon our principles, then what makes us any better than _them_?" Dumbledore raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"Nymphadora, I would never force any of you to take any action you felt conflicted with your values." Dora shrugged, sticking her hands in her pockets.

"Funny, that. Didn't seem to me like anyone was asking Remus what he thought about it." She let the implication hang in the air, heavy with accusation. Remus watched Dumbledore carefully, his expression inscrutable. _You were hoping I could be guilted back out into the field, weren't you? Even though I told you my priority was getting Sirius released._ It wasn't even like he wasn't going on missions at all, he was just staying closer to home. He was even part of the guard rotation for the Department of Mysteries.

Sirius slid the ashtray over to him; he flicked the end of his cigarette, and pulled it to his lips for another drag.

"Well. Took the words right out of _my_ mouth." Remus couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his tone. Everyone turned to stare at him, as though they'd quite forgotten he was there at all.

"Remus…"

"I appreciate the difficult position I've put you in, but mine hasn't changed," he bit out, unwilling, for the first time he could remember, to be soothed into compliance by the elder wizard. He turned his attention instead to Snape. "Greyback's modus operandi remains the same as always: attack who he is told to attack, _when_ he is told to attack them. Information that _fortunately_ , Severus, you would be more privy to than me."

"Why is that?" Hestia asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Pack dynamics." She stared at Remus blankly, an expression he noted with some dismay was mirrored by nearly everyone else at the table. He huffed out an exasperated sigh. "Right. Here."

He stood, holding his cigarette in his mouth as he pulled a length of parchment towards the middle of the table, motioning for everyone to lean in. Molly wrinkled her nose at him.

"Remus, could you put that thing out?"

"No." Molly truly didn't understand that it was the only thing keeping him from flipping the table and throwing them all out of the house on their collective ears, war effort be damned. Arthur sent him an understanding look. _See, this is why we all love Arthur. He gets it._

"Is this why we don't normally do morning meetings?" Kingsley teased, clearly amused by Remus' uncharacteristically prickly demeanour.

"In his defense, he's not had his morning coffee ye--eep!" Sirius broke off with an amusingly high-pitched squeak as Remus pinched his arse. 

"That's enough out of you, thank you." Sirius simply laughed, sliding his hand into Remus' back pocket as he leaned over the table next to him.

"Will you two idiots _kindly_ play grab-arse on your own time," Moody grumbled, and Remus growled lightly in return. He was rapidly losing patience with the lot of them, but Sirius seemed to find it more amusing than anything else so he left it alone.

" _So_ ," he bit out pointedly, and began drawing. "Here's how the social structure typically works. You've got your literal 'lone wolves', who keep to themselves and avoid interactions with all others." These he drew as a series of small, scattered triangles. 

"Then you've got your typical packs, usually between two to five individuals, all of whom share blood, interests, a bed -- _something_ that ties them together socially. These are akin to small family units, and they are, generally, incredibly _stable_." More small triangles, more tightly knit, surrounded by a circle.

"Depends on the family unit you're referring to," Sirius intoned darkly, and Dora snorted. Remus pointedly ignored them both.

" _However_ , when you have situations that place these individuals and smaller packs in danger --an outside stressor, if you will-- groups that might otherwise avoid one another will instead band together out of a desire for safety. And that's how you get _this_." He drew out a layered pyramid, with the other shapes inside it.

"That looks even more stable," Elphias offered, half questioning, but Remus shook his head.

"You would think so, but no." He briefly paused to flick more ash into the tray. "Greyback's doesn't operate like a typical pack. It's not symbiotic like that. Instead, it's run by a single, solitary werewolf who has chosen to subjugate more vulnerable werewolves, out of a desire for power." He tapped the tip of the pyramid and drew his finger down towards the bottom to illustrate the power structure.

"So, he's an alpha wolf then," Elphias supplied, sounding like he had figured out the answer to a particularly sticky problem, despite being entirely fucking wrong. Remus pinched the bridge of his nose and reminded himself that it wasn't on to slap your coworkers.

" _No_. Greyback is an arsehole. Alpha theory, by the by, has been debunked by the same chap that coined it in the first place but--" he bit off the tirade before he could build up a full head of steam for it. _Today is not the day, Lupin, stay on subject._ "Regardless, the behaviours that he observed in _captive_ wolf packs," he stressed the term, trying to make the distinction as clear as possible, "are applicable in this situation. Bunch of individuals who don't trust or even _like_ one another forced into close quarters by situations out of their control, and having to figure out ways to cooperate to survive."

"Probably also worth mentioning that you can observe this in _any_ social species, not just in wolves," Dora added lightly, inspecting her nails and picking at the chipping black polish. "So, you know, like… _people_."

_Like me._

"Is there a point to this, Lupin? Some of us have places to be today," Snape drawled, sounding utterly bored. Remus stared him down unblinkingly for several long seconds, his cigarette slowly burning down between his fingers.

"As a matter of fact, _yes_." He jabbed his finger at the bottom of the pyramid. "Here's the majority of the population. They're only there because they've no other options. They have no ties holding them together except _fear_. Fear of," he drew an arrow pointing in towards the left side of the pyramid. "Anti-werewolf legislation and the like from the Ministry; fear of," he drew another arrow, this time on the right. "Stigma and ostracisation from the community at large. And of course," a final arrow, pointing up from below. "Fear of destitution, starvation, and death. All very real and present fears, for all of us."

Remus traced over the outer edge of the pyramid a few times, darkening it along with his mood. _No bars, but still caged._

Kingsley hummed thoughtfully.

“So you’re saying… what, that they only follow Greyback because they don’t think they’ve got any other choice? Doesn’t that make his base unstable?”

"To an extent." The assorted witches and wizards around him seemed baffled by this notion, and even more so that Remus was speaking to it as though it made perfect sense to him -- which it did. After all, Remus was supposed to be the shining example of what werewolves could accomplish if given the opportunity.

It rankled.

Remus wasn't certain how to describe it to them. Especially when even _he_ had difficulty wrapping his mind around the sense of overwhelming desperation so many of his kind felt; at the end of the day, he at least had the promise of food and a warm bed, and at least one person in the world that cared about him despite what he was. Remus' parents had kept him after he was turned, and he was well educated and able to integrate almost seamlessly into both wizarding and muggle society, owing to his mixed heritage. _I am a walking best-case scenario. A statistical anomaly._

Yet Remus was unable to make ends meet on his own terms, as things currently stood. _Seven NEWTs, graduated with high honours, and I've still spent most of my adult life surviving on scraps._ It was a hard sell, trying to convince his fellows that they, too, could live a normal life if they just _tried_ hard enough, when so many of them had been turned before they even got to finish --or in some cases, _attend_ \-- school, and here he was with every possible advantage and still barely scraping by.

The Order meant well. He _believed_ that, down to the marrow of his bones. They wanted to help. But judging the packs so harshly for making do with what little they had, and effectively blaming them for their own struggles when every system and society was stacked firmly against them… it left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

_We have to do better. We have to be better. Or we'll never change anything._

"I know that you all think that what I do with the packs is sort of a... combination between what Snape's doing with the Death Eaters and what Hagrid and Olympe were attempting to do with the giants," Remus began, his tone quiet but deliberate. "But I'm not a diplomat; I've not the patience nor persuasive power for it. And I'm no spy either; can't lie worth a shit."

"S'true," Sirius added, without hesitation. "We could always tell exactly what was in your hand when we played poker."

Remus slowly turned to face him.

"That's because you and James used to count cards."

Sirius pursed his lips.

"...While that is _technically_ true, you do still read very easily."

"Your ability to come up with plausible excuses under even the slightest pressure is also sorely lacking," Snape added dryly, and Remus flushed, remembering the Map incident with Harry and Ron. He cleared his throat pointedly, opting to make a tactical retreat on that subject. _Best leave it alone if Sirius and Snape are agreeing for once._

Although it _would_ be terribly amusing to watch Sirius contradict himself just to spite Snape, and wind up arguing himself in circles as he tended to do. Remus had a greater end game in mind.

"Right. _Well_. Just as well, since that's not what I do. I'm honestly just there to show them a way out, if they want it. The only problem is..." He trailed off, searching for a tactful turn of phrase. _There isn't one, really_. "Look, I can't just walk up and tell them that they can live a normal, if occasionally hairy, life when you've got the Ministry on the cusp of passing a law that makes that _literally_ impossible, even for me."

Remus surveyed the small crowd seriously, a small, savage part of him pleased that they were all, finally, paying attention.

"What exactly are you trying to say, Lupin?" Emmeline asked, scandalised. "You think it's pointless? That we should leave them to rot in the woods and be preyed on by Death Eater scum?"

_Yes._

Instead of answering, Remus took one last drag of his cigarette and stubbed it out in the tray before straightening. _Don't have much of a choice here I suppose._ He reached up and began carefully unbuttoning his shirt; Sirius removed his hand from Remus' pocket, giving him space.

"Remus, what are you--?" _Oh, you'll see, Molly._

"Werewolves that join Greyback without packmates--or at least allies-- of their own have very few options available to them," he said lightly, as though discussing the weather. "You can either join him in gleefully murdering innocents --earning a position in the higher ranks, and the right to be privy to things like attack plans and such-- or you condemn yourself to remaining at the bottom of the pecking order."

He pulled his shirt off, draping it over the back of his chair as he drew himself up to his full, not-inconsiderable height. Remus lifted his chin and fixed Snape with a fierce glare.

"I'll let you guess which option I chose."

Remus had no illusions about the state of his body; he'd been covered in scars of a variety of shapes and sizes from the moment Fenrir Greyback sank his fangs into Remus' thigh. But the ones he'd inflicted on himself over the years paled in comparison to the one that he was showing them all now.

"I remember when you got that," Moody rumbled, almost gently. "We got your signal, garbled as it was, and picked you up near Craigmalloch. Splinched to fuck, and laid wide open from hip to sternum. Scared the shit out of Dearborn, and he was a bloody field medic."

The dramatic recap wasn't for Remus' benefit, but he appreciated the assist nonetheless. He shrugged.

"Not one of my better moments." The Auror snorted at him.

"You had no business apparating while trying to hold your guts in place, and yet you still thought you could handle a three-step." He gave Remus a wry look. "Never did get to hear the story behind why I had to go fetching the limbs you scattered about the highlands in the first place."

The long version, of course, was that Greyback didn't hold with dissenters; you followed his orders or he'd make you regret it. Sometimes he'd handle the discipline himself, sometimes he'd leave it to his lieutenants. Sometimes, as in Remus' case, he'd give some of the new blood a chance to prove themselves. Remus wasn't an easy mark, by any means; ultimately it had taken five of them to take him on. But his narrow escape had come at a heavy cost.

_Not all of that blood was mine._

The Order didn't need the long version, though.

"Had the audacity to suggest we _shouldn't_ storm the Ministry in retaliation for that bit of legislation that expanded the powers of the Werewolf Capture Unit; remember that one?”

“Kill on sight orders for unregistered werewolves, wasn't it?”

“Got it in one.” His fingers twitched; he fought back the urge to light up another cigarette. _If I give in to that now I’ll be up to two packs a day again in no time. Three, the way things are going now. No thank you._ “Incidentally, at the time, I was included among that number.” He glanced around the room; clearly many of those assembled had not been aware that he had only registered in the last couple of years. _Thanks again, Snivelly. Much obliged._

But Dora hadn’t reacted to this; she was staring at him, eyes trailing down his body as if memorizing every ridge and line. Remus was stripped bare, naked and vulnerable beneath her gaze. He resisted the urge to curl up into himself, to vanish into the background as he was wont to do, instead meeting her eyes steadily.

She gazed back unflinchingly, _seeing_ him; something in his chest, in that place he normally associated with Sirius, rose up and took notice.

_Huh._

Sirius also didn't react, having long known how Remus' father had attempted to hide his existence. How Remus himself had hidden in plain sight, doing his level best to quietly remind the world that he wasn't a monster. ( _"He's just a person, like you or me."_ ) They'd never have given him the chance if they'd had any inkling, he knew that for certain now. It was never a matter of being good enough.

Sirius was staring at the long, dark scar with eyes that were more full of regret than pity, and Remus understood. His refusal to be seen without his shirt on after the incident --an incident Sirius had only just learned of last year-- had been the strike on the flint that had lit Sirius' paranoia aflame. And as always was the case between them, where one went, the other inevitably followed-- for better or worse.

Sirius' hand found his, threading their fingers together; Dora's eyes and Sirius' hands were keeping Remus tethered, holding him together when he wanted to disappear or else unravel into a pile of resentment and bile, of _look at us, look what you fucking did to us, you bastards._ He swallowed, jaw tight, and kept his head held high.

"If I walk into that camp right now, with Umbridge's latest atrocity up for vote, and so much as _hesitate_ when Greyback's lieutenants come 'round with the call to arms, they won't stop at just gutting me like a fish." He turned to look down the table at Emmeline. "It won't matter how much good I could have done for the ones who are there unwillingly. Can't do a bloody thing for anyone if I'm dead."

A ringing silence met his pronouncement; even Snape, for once, was holding his tongue -- albeit with obvious effort. Dumbledore was studying him over his half-moon glasses, fingers steepled in front of his long nose. He had the discomfiting sensation of being an ant under a magnifying glass, acutely aware that all the old man had to do was shift the angle of the glass just so, and he could burn Remus right off the map: no mess, no fuss. He considered Dora, who had risen so magnificently to his defense, and Sirius, who despite his dark silence was preparing to curse the next person who dared call Remus' honour into question.

_Well, alright, maybe a little fuss now then._

"I see," Dumbledore said gravely. "I suppose it would behoove us, then, to wait for the uproar surrounding this unfortunate law to die down before resuming our attempts with the packs, hm?"

Remus couldn't believe his ears; after all of that, Dumbledore was still planning to move forward with his hopeless plan to bring the werewolves onside without even the slightest attempt to understand them, to _hear_ them. Not only that, but calling Umbridge's laws 'unfortunate' was an understatement of the highest order. Rather like saying that Arthur had a passing interest in muggle artifacts, or that Harry had a slight tendency to get into trouble, or that Remus was a _bit_ miffed about the way this conversation was ending.

_He's not pushing you to go out into the field right now, Lupin. Take your victory, meagre as it is._

Remus released Sirius' hand, pulling his shirt off the back of the chair, and nodded, giving Dumbledore what he hoped came off as his usual benign smile.

"Of course, sir." He pulled his shirt back on as Dumbledore continued the meeting, acting as though nothing more groundbreaking had occurred than someone sneezing. _Don't know why I'm surprised._ He sat back down quietly, letting the voices around him fade into the background, indistinct over the sound of his own thoughts as they raged within him. Remus began mentally ranking albums by The Smiths; they were suitably depressing, and the exercise served to help keep his temper in check. 

He didn't bother buttoning his shirt.

They had moved on from the discussion of werewolves entirely, wrapping up Snape's report --which had been effectively finished anyway, the bastard just wanted a few extra moments to wave his prick in everyone's face. Mainly because that's just how he was, for all he liked to remind everyone (constantly and at great volume) of James' arrogance. Snape, much like Morrissey, was a bit of a cunt who was entirely too far up his own arse. But he didn't need to like someone on a personal level to appreciate the work they did. Only difference being he could avoid the sound of Morrissey choking on his own cock; there was no avoiding it with Snape, so long as they were both in the Order.

_The Queen Is Dead is obviously tops; stupid question, that. But would I put Meat is Murder or their self titled album second?_

Sirius had a hand on his knee, and was being remarkably better behaved than Remus had been earlier. His thumb was brushing back and forth slowly, soothingly. Sirius was, otherwise, paying close attention to the meeting. He was always better about that than Remus had ever been; he had even actually taken some notes.

_I'd probably put The Smiths second over Meat Is Murder, if only for 'What Difference Does It Make.' Plus it comes off a bit preachy, it does. I can't help I eat meat, mate. I'm a fucking werewolf._

Dora was drawing him a cartoon of Padfoot chasing Snape and biting him in the arse. It was rather good, actually. He'd always been more of a line artist himself, not that he'd been able to use much of it in the past. His friends hadn't let him do any of the drawing for the Marauder's Map, even though he was technically just as skilled as Peter had been. But Peter was right handed, and didn't half-smudge everything he drew or wrote to shite. So Peter handled the floorplans, and James handled the artistic flourishes, and Sirius did all the calligraphy since everyone else's handwriting was comparatively pants -- especially James'. As for Remus, he'd been the sole designer of the security measures. Even if Sirius did throw an impressive wobbly afterwards over his design choices. 

_Strangeways is definitely my least favorite. Saxophones, I ask you... and Hatful of Hollows was decent I suppose. Not the worst, but doesn't scratch the top three._

He wasn't entirely certain why he had chosen to ruminate about The Smiths, of all the bands he listened to; he'd been particularly deep into their catalogue during some depressive episodes he'd had in the eighties (better known as, simply, 'the eighties'), and he really hated dredging those feelings back up again. _So why am I doing it now?_

Remus began adding details to Dora's cartoon, shading in Padfoot's shaggy fur, adding shadows beneath them to indicate that they were not, in fact, floating in white space somewhere. Dora seemed delighted by his participation, going back in with her quill to refine certain outlines and shapes. She had also drawn a small heart with several exclamation points in the corner of the page, just to make certain there was no confusion. He watched as her writing appeared along the side.

_I suppose I owe you 5s now._

It took him a moment to realize what she was on about.

_This hardly counts. I was making a point._

_It was a brilliant point. It's also a brilliant chest, if I do say so myself. Full marks, Professor._

His cheeks burned, and Remus prayed that for once his fair complexion wasn’t betraying him. He wasn’t optimistic, mind, but one could always dream. Dora, meanwhile, was writing again, a smug grin curling the corners of her mouth.

_Oh, so no trouble giving it but you can't take it yourself, eh? Does that translate elsewhere? Asking for a friend._

Sirius must have noticed his expression, because he reached over and pulled the parchment away from him. Remus made a half-arsed effort to stop him, knowing perfectly well it was pointless. When Sirius really wanted something, he found a way to get it. He saw Sirius' eyebrows almost disappear into his hairline as he read the notes before, to Remus' horror, he picked up his pen (well, _Remus'_ pen, which he stole, the thieving shit) and began to write to Dora.

Dora, who wrote back, grinning. 

Remus was half-tempted to snatch the parchment away from Sirius and then burn it so no one else could see his pathetic attempts at flirting. Which were, somehow, apparently effective. _Or she's winding me up. Oh, Merlin's taint, what if she is? She has to be, there's no bloody way she'd actually be interested in… someone like me. I've got literally nothing to offer._ The spiteful confidence from earlier had left him entirely, leaving a quivery, numb feeling in its wake. Apparently, his attempt at making the Order understand the pack situation, while completely necessary, had psychologically kneecapped him, at least for the immediate future. 

His fingers twitched towards his pocket again.

Sirius gripped his hand suddenly, and Remus felt the folded parchment hidden between his fingers, slipping into his own. _I taught you that trick in first year, remember?_ Remus had taught them _all_. Sirius had gotten nearly as good as Remus, over the years. James had never gotten the hang of it, much to his own chagrin. Pete, however…

He thought of Peter, who used to absentmindedly walk a knut across the backs of his fingers as he did his homework. Peter, who used to use that same knut to call "heads or tails" at seemingly random moments, and they'd never know what he was deciding. Peter, who wound up being better than any of them at sleight of hand, in the end. 

_Did you flip a coin that day, too? Or did you already know how it was going to end?_ Remus wrinkled his nose briefly, shaking off the intrusive thoughts. _I really wish I could just pick a bloody thing to brood about and stick with it. All this jumping about is giving me a migraine._ Well, that and The Meeting That Went Very Poorly And Which He Didn't Even Want To Attend In The First Place, but he wasn't keeping a tally of things in his life that went tits up anymore. At this point, it was rather a given.

A sudden pain in his right ear snapped him out of his thoughts; Sirius had flicked him sharply, and was now giving him The Look. It was not often that Sirius utilized The Look, as being the adult in the room had somehow become Remus’ job anymore (and whose bright idea was _that_ one?) but when he did it was particularly effective if only in part due to its infrequent use. _I can practically hear you catastrophising from here_ , it said. _You let a few shitty comments get under your skin and now you’ve gone all defeatist on me_ , it said. _I love you and I’m here for you and I will definitely turn a blind eye if you want to hex Snape under the table_ , it said. 

He gave Sirius an apologetic half-shrug, and made to open the parchment he’d slipped him. Sirius stopped him with a minute shake of his head, nodding towards the head of the table, where Dumbledore was preparing to adjourn the meeting, only finishing up his round of check-ins. Remus, taking advantage of the distraction, slipped his wand from his belt and palmed it under the table.

“Remus, I trust you’ll have a report on your findings drawn up by next Tuesday?” He smiled, closed-mouthed but kindly, and nodded. “Good. And Sirius, have you had any luck getting into the library?”

“ _Into_ , yes,” Sirius hedged, lying through his improbably still-perfect teeth. “But it’s still being cleaned out and as of yet we’ve been unable to access much of the shelves.” Dumbledore nodded, and if he realized Sirius wasn’t being entirely forthcoming -- which he wasn’t -- then he said nothing of it. Snape scoffed, as though if _he_ had been the one attempting to clean out the library, it’d have been done weeks ago. Remus took his chance and cast while Kingsley let them all know that as far as the Ministry was aware, Sirius had been sighted about an hour outside of Kathmandu, and was believed to be heading further East -- (“I’m angling for you to be in Bali by Christmas so I can have an excuse to take my first holiday since you bunked out of Azkaban.” “You bringing me back one of those kitschy shot glasses or what?” “Mate, if I can pull this off, I’ll bring you back _three_.” “Cheers!”)

“Nymphadora.” To her credit, she scarcely twitched that time. “Have you been able to get moved onto Sirius' case as of yet?”

“No,” she groused, her hair flickering dark green for a moment before fading back to black. “Scrimgeour thinks I’m too close to the subject. Something about me having a _conflict of interest_." Dora rolled her eyes as she dropped air quotes around the phrase, more exasperated at the condescension than anything else. "Just as well, honestly, since that gives me an opportunity to play up that angle a bit."

There was some uncomfortable muttering at this; Remus was forced to admit he wasn't entirely at ease with the idea of her leaning into her family connections, even if he had a sneaking suspicion as to why. Dumbledore frowned at her over his glasses, projecting a disappointed, grandfatherly mien that didn't fool Remus for a second.

"May I ask why?"

"Personal project. Well, _projects_ , now, I suppose," she said, perching her chin atop her interlocked fingers. "Order adjacent, but I shan't concern the assembly with the details." The discontented rumblings grew louder; her eyes hardened, shifting a familiar amber-gold hue. "None of you have been particularly fussed about it before now, so you'll forgive me if I doubt the Order's interest in this matter. I, at least, believe it to be of _great_ importance, and am treating it accordingly."

"I am only concerned that you may draw unwanted attention to yourself, Nymphadora, and thus jeopardize your position, and the Order besides." Dora drew herself up indignantly, but had scarcely opened her mouth before a sharp crack interrupted her. 

The effect was immediate; about half the Order had drawn their wands and assumed defensive positions, by Remus' reckoning, himself and Sirius included. They stood shoulder to shoulder, ready for anything coming from the other end of the table. _Don't suppose either of us get points for already having our wands in hand, though._ Dora, likewise, had hers trained steadily at the side of Moody's head, having already identified the source of the noise, and therefore the immediate threat. The tip glowed red, a curse clearly readied. The Weasleys and Snape were also on their feet, along with Emmeline. Fletcher was on the floor, cowering in the corner with the bewildered look of a man who had been startled awake. Dumbledore hadn't so much as flinched. Whether this was arrogance or negligence on his part, Remus didn't know, but that was becoming a recurring theme anymore. Moody's eye swiveled around in its socket, taking in all the wands; who had moved and who hadn't.

"Let's see… dead, dead, dead, disarmed and _then_ dead -- fix your grip, Weasley-- dead, dead… and the rest of you _might_ live to see tomorrow." He sent what may have been an approving nod in Remus and Sirius' direction, before hauling himself to his feet, wooden leg striking the floor with a loud clunk.

"Was that necessary?" Aberforth snapped, temper clearly frayed. He'd never been as even keeled as his elder brother; it was part of why he and Sirius got along so well with him.

" _CONSTANT VIGILANCE!_ "

"More like a constant bloody headache, you poxy old goat!"

"Flattery gets you nowhere with me, laddy--"

"Why I ought'ter--"

Sirius elbowed Remus gently, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"We need to start having popcorn on hand for these meetings." Remus snorted.

"Keep that in mind for the next one." There was a clatter of chair legs across the hardwood as Abe shot to his feet, his and Moody's wands nearly jammed up one another's nostrils. "You want to take this before…?"

"Think I can?"

"I _know_ you can." Sirius glowed with a quiet happiness, and as proud as Remus was to have put that smile on his face, even for a moment, his heart also broke a little because _that's all it took_. Sirius cleared his throat loudly, getting everyone's attention except the two raging old bastards mid-table.

"Are you quite finished?" He had put his Lord of the House voice on, the one that made you instinctively sit up straighter and pay attention (unless your name was Remus Lupin, in which case The Voice would earn you a raised eyebrow and a rude hand gesture on a good day.) "I love a good punch up as much as the next person, but _really._ " He raised an imperious brow at them, and Remus had a _feeling_ \-- "Perhaps you two should, ah, what was it again? Oh yes… 'play grab-arse on your own time.'" Sirius affected Moody's harsh growl as he threw his admonition back at him, and Remus didn't know whether to be horrified or proud. _I think both? I can be both. They're not mutually exclusive._ Dora was howling with laughter as Aberforth sat back down, grumbling and jamming his hat back onto his head furiously. Moody simply stared Sirius down, as though he were debating whether or not to curse that satisfied smirk off his face.

"Point made," he bit out, and that was the closest to a compliment Sirius had ever gotten from the man, so Remus counted that as an absolute win. Moody turned to Dumbledore again. "You're suggesting my protegee can't do her job. She may be an empty headed ninny--"

"Oi!"

"--But she's also the best bloody Auror I've trained since Frank, and I've trained quite a few since then." He spat. "It's a little insulting, to tell you the truth. As if I'd let _any_ wet behind the ears novice join your merry band of miscreants."

Dumbledore nodded in acquiescence, straightening in his seat as he did so.

"Comme bon vous semble. C’est le bon moment pour ajourner, je pense. jusqu’à la semaine prochaine, mes amis?" Everyone stared at him in disbelief. His brow furrowed slightly. "Quelque chose ne va pas?" A throat cleared delicately near the Weasley contingent.

"Pardon, Monsieur Dumbledore, but you are speaking in French." Fleur tittered behind her hand. "I believe you may 'ave been, 'ow you say… pranked?" She turned to Bill for confirmation, and he nodded, biting his lips to prevent himself from laughing at the headmaster's predicament. Remus had to stop himself from looking at Sirius for confirmation; he'd pulled some pretty damn bold ones in the past himself, but James had been the only one mad enough to try pranking Albus bleeding Dumbledore. _Don't look, Lupin, first rule of acting naturally, remember? Do NOT look. Don't do it._ He glanced at Sirius out of the corner of his eye. _Damn it._ Sirius seemed as politely surprised as the rest of them, however. Fleur was now translating for Dumbledore, who seemed content to simply allow the spell to fade naturally, and within moments The Neverending Meeting finally, _blessedly_ , came to a close.

_Thank the fucking Nine._

Everyone shuffled out of the room in dribs and drabs, farewelling him on the way out the door with varying levels of warmth and sincerity. Fleur, to his surprise, was one of the warmest, kissing him on both cheeks and declaring him "a good man," which was said so fervently that he was rendered momentarily speechless. Sirius stepped in where he floundered, kissing her knuckles in a genteel manner that Remus often forgot he was capable of.

"Le pauvre ne sait pas quoi faire quand quelqu'un est gentil avec lui. Merci." She smiled a bit sadly at that.

"Je comprends, mieux que la plupart."

While Sirius was seeing the assorted crowd out the door, Remus took a moment to open the note that he'd slipped into his hand. It was the same bit of parchment he'd been writing back and forth with Dora on, complete with doodles, now including messages written in Sirius' slanted script. Sirius had added on his own embellishments to the cartoon, which now included a tiny Lily with angel wings flying after Snape, two middle fingers raised and shooting lightning bolts from her eyes -- a highly accurate portrayal of Lily Evans Potter for anyone who'd ever actually known her in life -- and a cartoon Dora, lobbing bludgers at the back of his head.

But it was the conversation between the two of them, picking up where his had left off, which really caught his eye.

_I'd say you were coming on a little strong, but he well earned that one, didn't he?_

_He's only teasing, though... isn't he?_

_Remus doesn't tease. He torments._

_Truth. I think I need to go home and have another shower after all that. Or at least wring out my pants._

_You do realize he's going to read all this later, don't you?_

_Let him. It's the worst kept secret in the Order at this point after the way I was just ogling him. I mean, did you see him?? My soul may have literally left my body. I am SPENT._

_Remus I know you're reading this now: I will tie you to a chair if I have to, love. Make this happen._

_Ooh, can I watch?_

_… Remus please she's perfect._

Her laughter was floating into the room from just outside; he was moving towards the source before he'd fully registered standing, pulling the door the rest of the way open to see her chatting amiably with Sirius, the rest of the Order having left.

"... So I'm making it look like I'm doing an independent investigation into you," she was saying cheerfully. "Though I'm more digging through legal transcripts and such. Shack has all the official paperwork, but he said he'd slip me a copy by the end of the week."

"That's brilliant!" Sirius gushed excitedly. "We weren't expecting you to have that for weeks yet!"

"I work fast." There was clear pride in her voice, and Remus' stomach flipped, sticking the landing somewhere in the general vicinity of his shoes. _Oh no, oh fuck._ "But the other project is what I'm going to be working on today, truthfully." Sirius cocked his head at her curiously; she grinned wickedly. "I'm going to start digging into those anti-werewolf laws and see if Mum can't find a way to challenge them through the official channels. Barring that, we'll have to figure out what needs to pass to render them impossible to enforce."

"Dora, you don't need to go through all that--"

"The hell I don't!" She crossed her arms, squaring off against him. "Dumbledore's taken some political hits recently, sure, but we've still got enough clout to hamstring these laws, if nothing else. But he won't-- none of these old toffs will-- and it's not right!" Sirius glanced over her shoulder, spotting Remus standing there, but Dora had worked herself up into a proper lather over it already. There would be no stopping her.

"Dora--"

"It's the height of arrogance to assume that we can just swoop in and 'save' everyone. Or that they have any obligation to come to our side for less than nothing. Like, 'hey, come and fight for us, we won't fight for you though, and if you refuse we're just going to assume you're automatically evil.' That's not negotiation, that's just insulting--"

"Erm, Dora, you might--"

"And fuck them entirely for putting all of that on Remus, and then trying to make him feel shitty about it when he's all 'I don't think it's such a good idea, and also they might literally kill me.' Like how dare he want to live. How dare he want to be allowed to work for a living like the rest of us knobs. Who told him he deserved rights anyway? It's all bollocks!" Dora was incandescent in her fury, punctuating her points with sharp hand gestures and sharper tone. 

Sirius gave up trying to get her attention, grabbed her by the shoulders, and spun her around abruptly to face Remus. Her eyes --still golden, and brimming with furious tears-- widened at the sight of him. Remus was a little bit in love with her in that moment. He felt the space between them like a tangible thread pulled taut and thrumming, singing in his veins. _She knows, she knows._ More than just knowing; James had known, and Lily too, but they hadn't _understood._ Not really, not like Sirius did. Not like _Dora_.

_… Remus please she's perfect._

She was staring at him, wide eyed and open mouthed, gearing up for an apology he didn't want, her hair shifting shades in her embarrassment. He wanted to know if her cheeks felt as warm as they looked, if her skin was as soft as he'd imagined. _Do her lips taste like freedom?_ Instead:

"You wouldn't happen to know who hexed Dumbledore, would you?" He could have slapped himself. But then she laughed: a short, breathy _relieved_ thing.

"Babel Hex; one of my better ones, I've got to say, though he's lucky it came out French this time. Last one I cast it on was shouting in Greek for three hours, poor bastard." She bit her lip and looked down at her hands self-consciously; Remus took the opportunity to lock eyes with Sirius.

_You're godsdamned right she is._

Sirius was quietly backing away, motioning wildly for Remus to _just get in there you ponce! Come on!_ He swallowed hard.

"Would you mind terribly if I kissed you?"

Her head jerked up, and she was staring again, her cheeks flaming brighter than the sun.

"Oh! Erm… yeah, alright then." The air left his lungs, or maybe it had never been there at all.

"Alright. Good."

Before he could lose his nerve; before his mind could catch up with his heart and remind him of all the reasons this was a terrible, awful, no-good idea; before he could forget to be _reckless_ , he crossed the three and a half steps between where he had been and where she was and _pulled_. His lips met hers before he'd remembered how to breathe. He pulled her against himself because if he didn't get closer, if he didn't feel her pulse racing against his own, he'd combust. He pressed her against the wall because if he didn't, he'd fall through space and time and cease to exist. Her hands, pressed against his back, pulling him closer, nails digging through his shirt. His hands, cupping her face, tilting her head, running his fingers through her silky hair. Freedom was honey, and lavender, and freshly baked scones; Dora was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted. She was steel wrapped in suede, softer and sharper than he had ever imagined someone could be. She was brighter than sunlight.

_Forgetting something?_

Remus pulled away slowly, taking her in; her hair had shifted back to a bright pink (with cheeks to match), her eyes a golden hazel, lips red and kiss-bitten, highlighting the black ring looped through her lower lip. She leaned back against the wall as if punch drunk, watching him intently. He pressed another kiss to her lips, this time chastely, with a regretful sigh.

"You have to get to work." She groaned miserably, dropping her chin to her chest.

"Responsibilities, _eurgh_." He kissed her forehead gently.

"We'll talk about this later, yeah?" Dora looked back up, her expression suddenly sharp and searching.

"Promise?" He nodded firmly.

"Marauder's honor."

They separated with great reluctance and only a little awkwardness. He could see Sirius hovering by door, obnoxiously pleased with himself and bouncing on the balls of his feet as he threw Remus a thumbs up, grinning like he'd just gotten a puppy for Christmas. Dora followed his line of sight, turning to see Sirius, who abruptly tried to lean nonchalantly against the railing and pretend he hadn't been cheering them on like a fangirl at a pop concert.

"Don't mind the voyeur in the corner, there," he mumbled, trying not to sound embarrassed; he _wasn't_. Sirius was just… hard to explain, sometimes. He'd never really _had_ to, before. "We can just, like… I dunno, stick a lampshade over his head or something next time." _Next time, Lupin? How presumptuous of you_. Dora nodded seriously, as though this were a perfectly normal thing for any man interested in her to suggest.

"Get him one with the little tassels around the edges? Or is he more of a Tiffany, you reckon?" They shared a brief, deadpan look before the mental image caught up to them and they both dissolved into violent howls of laughter, clutching each other for dear life. Sirius' mother's portrait flew open and began shrieking something he couldn't make out and couldn't care about because Dora had just snorted and started scream-laughing, which just set him off even harder. 

_She's perfect… she's bloody perfect._

Sirius marched up and wrestled the curtains shut --while also laughing, he noted happily-- before gently steering them both to the door.

"Alright, that's quite enough out of you two, cackling like a pair of bloody hyenas." Dora took a deep breath, attempting to forcibly stop her laughter. Remus looked at Sirius desperately, still wheezing slightly.

"Give us something depressing but not too depressing."

"I'm the worst person to ask about this." He paused for a beat at Remus' beseeching expression. "Ah, fuck, the meeting just now."

It was as if a dementor had descended on them; effective, at least.

"Mood killer, that one," Dora griped, but she grinned at Sirius, and squeezed Remus' hand. He soared. "Anyway, speaking of pranks, _Lupin_ , nice job on Snape's shoes. The squeaking was subtle, but very annoying."

"Erm… thanks?" He glanced at Sirius, who was pretending to not pay attention. Remus was certain he'd been the one actually responsible for that one; _he'd_ hexed Snivelly's pants to bite him next time he went to take a piss. _Hope you've got good reflexes, arsehole_. Dora turned and kissed Remus once more, briefly, before hugging Sirius and pecking him on the cheek.

"Talk soon?" She asked Remus, hovering in the doorway, and he nodded. Dora smiled, waved goodbye, and then left. 

The moment the door closed, Remus slid down against the wall, the enormity of what he'd just done beginning to sink in.

"Did I just…?"

_I kissed her. I actually kissed her. Like, KISSED her, kissed her. On the mouth. With my mouth. And she liked it? Did that… actually happen? Have I died? Tell me I'm not dead._

Sirius let out a sharp bark of laughter, startling him out of his existential crisis, and plopping himself down on the floor in front of Remus.

"Bout bloody time, too. I was about ready to lock you two in a room together." Sirius grabbed his hands, holding them firmly. "Hmm, thought so."

"Huh?"

"You're shaking like mad." Sirius was stroking the backs of his apparently-trembling hands with his thumbs, bringing Remus' knuckles up to his lips to kiss nearly the same way he had Fleur's earlier. Fleur had been courtesy; this was comfort. There was _meaning_ here, he knew, the look that passed between them heavy with understanding. Sirius was watching him, his eyes narrowing slightly in a way that he knew meant he was trying to puzzle something out on his own. His lips parted, and he hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath and then--

"Did you freak out after the first time I kissed you, too?"

The question caught him off guard, and a sense of alarm flickered into existence at the back of his mind. Regardless of how Dora made him feel, he'd put an end to it immediately if Sirius found he was even slightly uncomfortable. She might be freedom, but he was _home._

"I _may_ have hyperventilated in the shack for twenty minutes before moonrise, and then afterwards convinced myself I'd dreamed it all somehow." He looked into Sirius' eyes, willing him to be honest. "Why do you ask?"

"Idle curiosity, really," he shrugged easily, leaning back on his hands. Remus believed him. "You had come off very confident back then--"

"Bravado, I assure you--"

"And regardless, it was a damn good look on you. But I always wondered where it came from."

"I grew into it later, after I was done being an anxious mess."

"Oh, beg pardon; I hadn't realized you'd ever finished."

"Funny." Remus ran his hands through his hair, feeling distinctly unmoored. "I'm going to find a way to fuck this up."

"You won't."

"I will."

"Remus, I promise you, it will be fine as long as you're totally in this." Sirius poked him in the forehead. His conviction was steadying; Remus clung to it. "No half-arsing, no self-sabotage, no _waffling._ " _Fair enough. I'll follow your lead for once._ Remus groaned.

"I wanted to make waffles this morning."

"We can make them now, if you'd like."

"I've got to head to the market." Sirius shook his head.

"It'll keep, Remus."

"It can't, I have to pick things up for dinner tonight."

"Not after the morning you had, you don't." He scooted over next to Remus against the wall, sliding his arm around him. Remus sighed and curled into Sirius slightly, tucking his face into the crook of his neck as Sirius played with his hair. His heartbeat slowly returned to a normal rate while he sat and breathed Sirius in; mulled wine on a winter night. Citrus and spice.

"It has been a bit intense, hasn't it?" He was exhausted. Sirius hummed, digging his fingers lightly into Remus' scalp. He bit back a moan. "You're spoiling me, you are."

"I'm allowed."

"I wanted to do something nice for you today." Sirius grinned into his hair, his chest shaking as he laughed quietly.

"You do nice things for me every day." Remus opened one eye, brow raised skeptically.

"I'm never nice."

"Are too." Remus rolled his eyes, accepting that he was not winning that particular argument today. "So. New plans."

"Alright, I'm listening."

"We're going to make waffles. And we're going to eat them in bed."

"So far, sounds curiously similar to mine."

"It was a good plan. Credit where it's due and all." Sirius cupped his cheek, and Remus turned his head to press a kiss to his palm. "So after brunch, I'm going to run us a bath--"

"Oh?" He liked where this was heading quite a bit.

"And we're going to use the _fancy_ bubbles--"

"We have bubbles? Since when?"

"Lavender ones, yes, and since I ordered them." Remus blushed; he could hear the grin in Sirius' voice as he continued. "It'll be relaxing. And then we'll sort of play things by ear after that I suppose."

"What about dinner?"

"I was thinking we could get carryout from that Indian place down the way. So neither of us has to cook."

"I was only going to make pasta, you know."

"You can make it for me for my birthday then, if you're so insistent." Sirius was walking his fingers slowly up Remus' thigh; he was disinclined to stop him.

"Alright then. But you realize I'll still have to leave to go pick it up."

"We've got _hours_ yet." It was Remus' turn to hum, pressing his lips against Sirius' pulse point, feeling his heart skip a beat when he did so. "You trying to finish what you started this morning?"

"We _did_ get interrupted." Sirius was particularly sensitive around his ears; Remus nipped at his earlobe, grinning as he felt Sirius shiver in response.

" _Twice._ Reckon third time's the charm?" Remus leaned in, his lips barely brushing Sirius', when he paused just shy of kissing him.

"Maybe now in a minute." He pulled away, winking. Sirius leaned his head back against the wall with a dull thud.

"That is against the rules, sir."

"Which rule set are you referring to?"

"The one where you don't tease your partner after edging him in public." Remus sat up, hand over his heart, pretending to be scandalised. As if he could ever be.

"Alright, first of all, you, that was _not_ my fault."

" _Details_ ," Sirius scoffed, waving the excuse away.

"And, second," Remus paused, looking skyward and pretending to think, tapping a finger to his lips. "Weren't you just telling Dora that I don't _tease_?"

Sirius' eyes widened slightly; Remus looked back down at him and graced him with a wide, wolfish grin. He was _awfully_ easy to wind up for someone who'd always been so insufferably shameless in school. Remus blushed easily himself, so it was always a point of pride for him to get Sirius to do so.

_And there it is. Beautiful._

He reached a hand out; Sirius took it, rolling his eyes as he clambered to his feet, pulling Remus up with him. Remus stretched, his back cracking with a satisfying pop. Sirius was rubbing at the back of his neck, grimacing.

"Remember when sitting on the floor used to be painless?" Remus raised his eyebrows at him. "Alright, the _normal_ amount, then." He shook his head.

"Perks of getting old. We should count ourselves so lucky." Sirius pursed his lips.

"We're not _old_ , Remus. We're just… a little out of shape, is all." This Remus could allow; after all, they'd both been holed up in the house for several months with their only real activity being cleaning and, well…

"We certainly don't bend the way we used to."

"Not for lack of trying though!"

"Never!"

It felt good to laugh, after the way the morning had gone. Not a release valve of nervous energy, like the one with Dora earlier had been -- not that that was a _bad_ laugh, per se, but it _had_ been a bit hysterical. This was a real, genuine, _natural_ laugh. Easy. Like letting out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Sirius was right; the meeting had been taxing, to say the least. Remus was certain he had managed to cover the entirety of his emotional spectrum in -- he checked his watch -- three hours. It was as if someone had handed him one of those charts asking 'how are you feeling today?' and he just circled the whole bloody thing and handed it back like 'yes.'

_I don't think the human brain was meant to take this much in one sitting. Dunno if I've even properly processed any of it yet. Probably not._

Remus shoved his hands into his pockets as they turned to make their way back to the kitchen, and felt something small and metallic that hadn't been there before. He fished it out, examining it: a small, round black and neon green pin. He'd apparently never switched Dora's Pennywise pin back onto her vest. _Oh no, now I have an excuse to see her again._ But... he didn't need an excuse now, did he?

He glanced at Sirius, who still seemed perfectly unconcerned about Remus having snogged Dora senseless right in front of him. If anything, he was in a far better mood than he'd been in weeks. _You'd think he was the one getting the girl, the way he's carrying on._ Remus felt a little guilty about not trusting the sudden burst of happiness, but… with how negative Sirius had been lately, it seemed prudent to _know._

"So… joking aside… how are you feeling about this, really?" Sirius, bless him, clearly had been waiting for him to break down and ask. He shot him one of those 'you can't fool me' grins that used to drive Remus spare.

_Alright, yes, I'm predictable, clearly. Fuck me for caring._

"I really, _really_ like her. She just… you know, _fits_. Like she's always been here. Like there was never an _us_ without _her_." Relief flooded through him at Sirius' words. He'd felt it too, then. He understood.

"...I suppose we need to have a chat with her then. Properly."

"Sooner rather than later," Sirius warned, and then spun, leaning back on the countertop with both hands. "But first: waffles!"

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The waffles were neither successful nor a total disaster: they were made and eaten, with minimal burns and only a few mangled masses of fried dough that were, if nothing else, waffle-flavoured. The majority were, by and large, _fine_ , since they discovered that as long as Remus handled the timing and Sirius the physical extrication of the waffle, they'd actually be successful. It had just been those first few test runs that had been… well, no one needed to know about those. Sirius popped open a bottle of Brut he'd found in the cellar and they sat in bed together, knocking back mimosas and listening to R.E.M. (and Remus most certainly _didn't_ sing, Sirius was a filthy liar.)

(Sirius would state, For The Record, that it was in fact Remus who was Utterly Full of Shit; that he'd lain on his side and traced lines over Sirius' chest whilst softly crooning along with 'You Are The Everything', and being absolutely soppy over it.)

(Remus would counter that _Sirius_ had gotten choked up over the song but pretended he didn't, and Remus let him have that one, being the kind and considerate partner he was. But then the silly mutt came back at him with 'Hairshirt' and, well, then they were _both_ done for.)

(They would both agree that the mimosas had hit them a little harder than was strictly proper before noon and leave it at that.)

During the promised bath, which was as relaxing as Remus had hoped it would be, he'd realized several things: first was that he could still hold his breath underwater for five and a half minutes, which was apparently all he needed. The second was that lavender on Sirius' skin made him think of Sirius and Dora _together_ , and also inexplicably of biscuits. The third was that he might actually be as excited to see how things worked out with Dora as Sirius was, which was a bit of a foreign concept for him. He was rather used to not getting his hopes up.

Later, Remus snuck him out to Hampstead Heath -- as Padfoot, of course, he wasn't _completely_ mad-- and they watched the sun set over the city. Padfoot lifted his nose into the air, eyes closed, his long, shaggy fur rustling in the breeze. He could almost picture Sirius standing tall in his place, arms stretched out towards the sky. Freedom was crisp October air, breath fogging in little white puffs, and the cigarette they shared once it had gotten properly dark ("Just for a minute, now, cariad-- be _careful_." "You are a prince among men, mon loup." "Thank me when we don't get arrested, yeah?")

For a little while, they just _were_ , and what they were was bloody lovely.

When Molly stopped by headquarters the following morning, she found the two of them curled up together on the couch -- fully clothed, thank Merlin, she had seen _quite_ enough the last time -- Sirius sprawled out over Remus' chest, drooling inelegantly into his nightshirt. Remus was snoring, open-mouthed, one arm flung over his eyes, the other draped over Sirius' back, holding him close even in sleep. A number of empty carryout tins were scattered about the coffee table, along with a few bottles of some sort of muggle drink. She waved her wand with a roll of her eyes, tutting to herself. Boys were messy creatures, no matter how old they were. Her Arthur was proof positive of that.

Upon reaching the kitchen, however, Molly noticed a bunch of flowers in a small glass vase sitting in the middle of the table that hadn't been there the day before. She smiled softly to herself; Remus could be _quite_ the romantic when he wanted to be. White chrysanthemums, and among them: forget-me-not, lavender, witch hazel, and --she laughed when she identified the last one-- _lupins_. Wildflowers for a wild man, every last one shouting from the rooftops his feelings for the idiot currently draped over him like a vaguely drippy blanket.

For her part, she regretted how critical she'd been of Sirius over the summer. Not only because of the impressive cold shoulder she'd gotten from his partner, at that. Now that they weren't living in such close quarters, she could see how difficult a time he was having. It was just hard not to be exasperated with his behavior sometimes. Especially when he seemed like an overgrown child, much like her own boys. However, it was obvious he was trying his best; she could too. For Harry, and for Remus, if nothing else.

They'd had a difficult road, he and Remus, and more struggles yet lay ahead. Despite her disagreements with Sirius --and Remus, by consequence-- Molly knew they both loved each other fiercely, and would sooner lose a limb than be parted from one another again. Remus was doing everything in his power to make certain that wouldn't happen. She could hardly fault the poor man, with all he'd had to endure.

Molly set the basket of food she'd brought down next to the flowers, confident her preserving charm would keep everything fresh til the men woke. Even if it wasn't until the late afternoon; Morgana only knew how late those two had stayed up. She knew neither of them slept well as it was.

She poked around a bit, banishing Remus' socks back upstairs so Sirius didn't have a fit when he saw them in the study _again_ (she sympathised with him, truly. Ronald, Charlie, and the twins were the same.) She put fresh milk in the ice box, eggs from their hens on the counter, and took the couple of foxes that had tried to get at the hens the previous night up to Buckbeak. The little love snapped them up quite neatly and with great appreciation, and accepted several pats before Molly had to see herself out, lest she try to smuggle him back home. ("You can't keep a hippogriff, Molly, don't be daft! He'd be in the henhouse as much as the ruddy foxes!")

She stopped in to check on them in the drawing room once more before she left; they were still fast asleep, exactly as she'd left them. She sat for a moment on the armchair beside them, looking them over. They were so _young._ It was easy to forget when they were awake; they'd both been through so much, they seemed older than Albus himself at times. It was something in their eyes. But they were scarcely ten years older than her Bill. _They were the twins' age when this started._ Her eyes flickered to Remus, tracing over the visible scar that ran over his lips and along his jaw. _Younger, even. Younger than Ginny. Too young._

She thought of Tonks, standing up for the pair of them at the meeting the previous morning, and smiled. _She'll be good for them. And I can lend an ear if she needs._ Molly heaved a sigh, swiping away the moisture that had gathered in her eyes. She couldn't do much for them, grown men that they were -- and not _hers_ , beside. But she resolved to do what she could. She conjured a blanket, throwing it over the pair of them gently, and went home.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Molly-_  
_Ta very much for the care package. I'm certain Moony was weeping over the sourdough, it was that delicious. You'll have to share the recipe sometime. And for bringing Beaky some treats as well. It's been a mo since he's had fresh game, and he was quite appreciative._  
_I get the feeling you picked up after us, sneaky witch. You didn't have to do that, but I would be remiss not to thank you for sparing the love of my life from having to listen to me harp on him for the nine millionth time about his bloody socks. (Don't ask how I know, I just do. I've a sixth sense for his clutter these days. I'm sure you know how it is.)_  
_(Side note: how do you handle it at home? I'm positive at least one of the boys does this and I'm running out of ideas.)_  
_You, Arthur, and the kids are all welcome here any time, I should hope it goes without saying. Moony and I meant what we said._  
_Thank you._  
_-Padfoot ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _It's happening._ More already in the works; this chapter was the one holding the others up, and I couldn't finish them until I got this one hammered out.
> 
> French Translations:
> 
> As you see fit. It's a good time to adjourn, I think. Until next week, my friends?  
> Is something wrong?
> 
> The poor man doesn't know what to do when someone is kind to him. Thank you.  
> I understand, better than most.
> 
> Edit: Fleshed out the splinching adventure slightly, for clarity.


	8. Mad Like My Aging Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dora and Remus both overthink things, Ted is decidedly unhelpful, Andromeda is a force of nature, and Sirius is _somehow_ the sane one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't anywhere near as long as the previous one, and is more of a set-up for the next, but _holy shit we're getting somewhere._ Thank you all so much for your patience and your support while I got this out. (I'm getting into some better writing habits, which is helpful.)
> 
> (Chapter title is from "I'm a Fantastic Wreck" - Montaigne.)

There were three sets of heels, two pairs of boots, and a single bright yellow trainer scattered about the bedroom floor. The bed was likewise covered in a thick layer of discarded clothing, a variety of skirts and shirts and trousers. Dora normally felt prepared to either fight God or fuck Him. Tonight, however, nothing fit or felt right, no matter what she tried, and she was rapidly running out of options.

_It's just dinner and drinks with the boys, Tonksie, no need to get excited._

Except that three days ago Remus had kissed her like a scene out of one of her daydreams, and oh! By the way, she now also knew what he looked like without his shirt on. The elusive second tattoo he’d once mentioned was a large paw print under his left collarbone. He might as well have had “property of Sirius O. Black” scrawled across his chest. Remus had scars — loads of them — and the way they dipped and curved over his body had fascinated her. Dora wanted to map them all out with her fingertips, memorise them so completely that she could trace out the lines of his history blind.

Couple that with the image of him bossing people about whilst half-naked and a cigarette dangling from his lips, and any thoughts of a casual meal with friends were right out the bloody window.

Dora flung yet another set of tights across the room with a frustrated sigh. Nothing seemed appropriate for a first date. Was it even a date? Remus had only said they were going to "talk" but that could be code for something for all she knew. This wasn't her usual territory. Maybe he wanted to let her down gently? Or maybe he was only looking for a short-term thing. One of those "hey we snogged the other day right in front of my boyfriend who was totally into it and could I perhaps interest you in a three-way" sort of things. (The answer was yes, but that was irrelevant.) She could usually tell immediately what someone wanted from her — years of practise and all that — but Remus and Sirius both operated under a different rule set. Dora wished, not for the first time, that people came with an instruction manual; press this button for relationship, press that one for mind-blowing sex. She didn’t think it was too much to ask for things to just be fucking _simple._

Her bedroom door swung open, bringing her racing thoughts to a screeching halt.

"Dorie, were you staying for— _oh!_ Bugger, I'm so sorry love!"

Upon spotting her standing amidst the wreckage clad in nothing but her unmentionables, her poor father turned positively maroon, doing an immediate about-face and exiting the room as abruptly as he'd entered. Scowling, Dora snatched a discarded leather skirt off her bed and began scanning her room for a shirt to try it with.

"What the hell happened to knocking?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't even think!"

"I'm gonna put a sign up next time: do not enter, wardrobe panic in progress!"

A snorty sort of laugh followed her outburst from the other side of the door; he was recovering just as quickly as she was.

“Well, I suppose that answers whether you're staying for dinner. Hot date tonight?”

"If I can ever figure out what I'm wearing, yes."

Dora tossed the skirt aside and summoned a dress from her wardrobe, eyeing it critically. 'If' was the operative word. 

"Ah, that's easy. Full suit of armour."

Dora sighed, fixing her gaze on the ceiling as she searched for patience.

"Dad. Seriously."

"No? How about your Auror digs? Show him who's taking his bollocks if he doesn't treat you right."

The dress was far too much, she decided, discarding it and running her hands through her hair with a frustrated groan.

" _Dad._ It's just Remus, and he already knows I could tie him in knots blindfolded."

She conveniently left out the fact that Remus might actually enjoy that. Her mother was one thing, but Dora did not need to traumatise her father like that twice in one day.

"Remus Lupin? The one you've been mooning over for months?" her father asked, a curious lilt to his voice.

"I've not been _mooning_ , thank you, but yes. Him."

She heard a low whistle.

"How'd this happen then?"

"No," she said with a laugh. "No no no, you do _not_ walk in on me changing and then expect to get the juicy gossip. That is not how this works."

A huff; he wasn’t giving this up yet, she could tell. Her father was stubborn and exceedingly nosy. She came by it honestly.

"I'll set your mother on you."

"Good!" Dora retorted, seeing an opening. "I could use the extra set of eyes here."

That and a brain that wasn't currently skipping like a scratched record over the way the tendons had moved under Remus' lightly freckled skin when he rolled his shoulders. He always did that when he got annoyed, but it hit differently when he wasn't wearing his usual layers. Or, well, anything.

Merlin, she had it bad.

"Alright, alright," her father called with a defeated sigh, already halfway down the hall. "I can see when I'm not wanted!"

Not ten seconds later, there was a soft knock on the door.

"Nymphadora?"

If nothing else, her father was a man of his word. She supposed he probably picked up on the desperation she was trying to hide. He was good about things like that. Dora tossed yet another shirt aside, folding her arms with a sigh.

"Come in!"

Her mother let herself into the bedroom carefully, closing the door behind her with her usual grace. Her dark eyes scanned the room, taking in its disastrous state.

"So, things are going well, I see." She raised a perfectly arched brow, not flinching in the slightest when Dora sent a dark look her way.

“Swimmingly.”

Her mother laughed, shaking her head softly and somehow keeping any of her soft curls from going out of place. Dora had no idea how she managed it.

“Alright, darling girl, let’s see what we’ve got to work with, hm?” She set her hands on her hips, smiling, and Dora felt the knot of anxiety in her gut loosen. “What sort of environment are you headed into?”

“Just dinner at the house, nothing too fancy.”

“Are you getting carryout or is he cooking?”

“Remus said he’d be making dinner; Sirius is supposed to be there as well.”

Her mother hummed thoughtfully.

“Interesting date format, but I’m not going to judge. I’ve no idea how these things work.”

“I don’t even know if it’s actually a date,” Dora moaned, her arms dropping to her sides. “All I’ve got to go on is that we kissed the other day and then he said we’d talk about it later, and then—”

“He kissed you?”

Her mother had straightened, surprised, her eyebrows disappearing behind her fringe. Dora shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

“Well… yes, the other day. He, erm… asked first, though, so it’s not like—”

“Damn.” Dora blinked at her. “He couldn’t have held out a few more weeks? Now I owe your father tickets to see Percy Sledge.”

She didn’t know why she was surprised to find that they had been betting on her and Remus’ debatably existent romance. Parents needed to find their amusement where they could, she supposed.

“What would you have gotten if he’d waited?”

“Tickets to see this T-Rex cover band; the lead singer supposedly looks and sounds very much like Marc Bolan.” Her mother wagged her eyebrows suggestively, and Dora threw a blouse at her face. She caught it effortlessly, because of course she bloody well did.

“You are literally the worst!” Dora huffed at her

“Oh, relax Nymphadora, I’m not here to torment you.” She examined the blouse Dora had thrown, shrugging. “Much.”

Dora only slightly regretted goading her father into calling in the cavalry; her mother was far craftier with her brand of irreverence than Dora or her father were. She waited as her mother cleared off a spot on the bed, seating herself upon the duvet like a queen upon her throne.

“Now,” she began, and Dora felt a wave of apprehension roll over her. “Regardless of if this is a date or not, you are going to want something sexy, yet comfortable.”

She picked up a black shirt that Dora had discarded early on, brandishing it questioningly. Dora shook her head.

“It didn’t look right when I tried it on.”

Her mother eyed her speculatively for a moment. 

“Is that the bra you were using?” At Dora’s answering nod, she all but shoved the shirt into her hands. “Let me see.”

Dora pulled it over her head dutifully, holding her arms out for inspection once she’d straightened it out.

“See? It’s not exactly flattering. I’ve tried adjusting— ” she morphed her breasts a few different shapes and sizes to demonstrate — “but it just looks weird.”

Her mother regarded her in a way that made her feel like she was being dissected, perfectly manicured fingers brushing along her immaculate rosebud lips. As always, when Dora looked at her mother, she felt somehow insufficient, metamorph abilities be damned. Even as she turned around and suddenly began digging through Dora’s unmentionables without a care in the world. After a few moments, she tossed Dora a simple black bra with just a hint of lift to it: one of her favourites, if not one she’d typically associate with date nights.

“Here. Try with this one.” 

She swapped out and against all logic, it bloody well fixed the problem. Her mother nodded approvingly, smiling slightly in that self-satisfied sort of way she did whenever she was once again proven right.

“You're obviously more comfortable in this one,” her mother explained, business-like. “It makes a great deal of difference in how you carry yourself.” 

She reached out, positioning Dora like a mannequin and fussing with the cropped hem. Dora swatted her mother’s hand away weakly.

“Please don’t ask me to transfigure the length,” she asked, remembering the last time she’d attempted any kind of spellwork on her clothes. She’d tried to transfigure a t-shirt into a flannel and ended up with a flan instead. She'd been wearing it at the time. It was messy.

“I’m not worried about that,” her mother scoffed. “You could head over there stark naked for all I care.”

So much for keeping her mind off of the subject of nakedness concerning Remus. Dora snatched up a pair of denims — a nicer pair with nary a patch nor tear in sight — and brandished them at her mother.

“I feel like showing up starkers to dinner would create its own set of issues."

Her mother simply waved Dora's concerns away as if bits flopping about at the table were the least of anyone's problems. Dora supposed that in light of the war brewing in the shadowy fringes of their world, it was.

"It’s not like he's going to be staring at your midriff while sat at the table," her mother said, calm as you please, like she was discussing floral arrangements and not her daughter's ability to pull. "And with this neckline if you drop something down your front, black is fairly forgiving and you don’t have to worry about having to dig crumbs out of your cleavage.”

Merlin, but Dora was glad that she was long-since inured to her mother's unfiltered approach to sex. Made things far less awkward.

“Good point,” she said with a valiant, if ultimately failed, attempt at stifling her laughter, and pulled on her jeans without further comment. Her mother was already clearing away the other tops, folding them up into a neat pile on the bed with a flick of her wand.

"I'd pair that look with a boot if it were up to me," she advised without glancing up from her spellwork.

"Three steps ahead of you." 

Dora pulled her socks on and summoned her favourite pair of maroon Docs. They were mostly shiny, save for a few scuffs here and there. Her mother rolled her eyes and folded her arms as though her daughter insisting on a splash of colour was a surprise. But Dora caught the telltale twitch at the corner of her mouth.

"Coordinate your lip colour, go light around the eyes, and you'll knock him off his feet." The smile that had been threatening to appear suddenly manifested in all its teasing glory. "Do remember to send us a note if you'll be detained tonight."

Dora threw her head back with a loud, bright laugh.

She was ready.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sirius wasn't sure he remembered what their bedroom floor looked like anymore. Remus had scattered what appeared to be every jumper, cardigan, and button-down shirt either of them had ever owned over every visible surface. He was currently elbow-deep in a pile of trousers, second-guessing the pair he had on for what felt like the eighth time in ten minutes.

"You are putting entirely too much thought into this."

Remus rocked back on his heels with a groan, running a hand back through his still-damp hair.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've done this?" He looked back over his shoulder, a manic edge to his expression. "Sixth year!"

"Really? I’d have thought you'd have pulled a few times while I was away."

("Away," of course, being their polite euphemism for "rotting in prison for crimes uncommitted.")

"Yeah, _pulled_ ," Remus said with a derisive snort. “Which was honestly more that someone would show vague interest, and I'd be just fucked up enough to want to have it off in a bathroom stall or something, but not so fucked up I didn't understand the question. That— ” Remus tossed the khaki slacks he'd been holding aside roughly— “Was a delicate balance that was very infrequently struck. And not even _remotely_ comparable, besides."

It was still strange for Sirius, hearing him talk about the years between. Remus rarely went into detail like that — not since they'd been back in England, anyway. The stories weren’t _all_ bad, but they never seemed to fit with what Sirius thought he knew.

They had never truly broken, but he and Remus certainly both had cracks in new places now.

Sirius picked up the discarded trousers, refolding them and setting them on top of the trunk, out of Remus' line of sight. The way he was going, Remus would forget he'd ruled them out already — for whatever mysterious reason, as he'd yet to articulate what the issue was with any of the articles of clothing he'd been throwing about.

At least he'd settled on which pants to wear. That was a start.

Remus lay back on the floor, heels of his palms pressed into his eyes, swearing softly in Welsh. Sirius tutted at him.

"Not giving up already, are you?"

"I don't have anything to wear," Remus moaned.

Sirius gestured around the room.

"Shall I burn these then, as they're clearly only fit for the bin?"

Remus dropped his arms, glaring up at Sirius.

"Pack it in, would you?" Remus was aiming for scathing, but landed firmly on whinge. "I'm having a fucking crisis here."

"What, like a mid-life one?"

A pair of denims came flying, smacking Sirius directly in the mouth. Remus had always had a hell of an arm on him. James had used to beg him to try out for Beater, furry little problem be damned. 

James would have known how to talk Remus out of his funk; he was good at that sort of thing. Or Pete would have distracted him with some mindless chatter and gotten him out of his head.

But James and Peter were both gone. It was all up to him now.

"So, what's the problem you're having exactly?" Sirius ventured, seating himself at the edge of the bed. It creaked miserably beneath him. Remus let out an equally miserable groan.

"My fashion sense apparently only comes in two flavours," he managed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Gutter punk and bargain bin scholar. Neither of those are really fitting the bill."

Sirius let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

"It’s never that bad, Remus."

"It is," he insisted. "Trust me. I look exactly like the old pictures of my Tad-cu Howell, I do, from the tatty sweater vest right down to the oxfords."

"Well, I suppose it's all for the best if you and I both skipped the stage where we become our fathers, and you went straight to dressing like your grandfather."

"And what about you?" Remus scoffed. "I highly doubt any of _your_ forefathers would have approved of your wardrobe."

"Well, I've simply ascended past the need for such petty mortal concerns," Sirius supplied loftily. He cut a sly glance at Remus, who was now glaring at him from his place on the floor. "Or, I've simply resolved to be as unlike my family as possible. Current location aside."

"Thank Merlin for that."

Sirius hopped off the bed, reaching a hand out to Remus and motioning for him to get up.

"Come on now, you git. You've got to have _something_ in here you can wear."

"Ah, yes, my mistake. I'm sure I've simply lost my 'fuck-me' cardigan in the back of the wardrobe."

Sirius rather thought Remus was very much underestimating how fuckable he looked in a nice cardigan, but then Sirius knew Remus had never had a clear view of himself. He could give Remus a pass, now that he knew first-hand what it was like to look in the mirror and only see your flaws. But if Dora didn't see how beautiful Remus was, then she was fucking blind.

(Though he had it on good authority that Dora had eyes in her head, so the point was rather moot.)

"I didn't realise you were looking to pull tonight; shall I make other arrangements?"

"Very funny," Remus snarked, hauling himself up to his feet and ignoring Sirius' hand entirely. He _was_ in a bloody mood, wasn't he? "It's just dinner and drinks, and a long-overdue chat to… I dunno, figure out whatever the hell this is."

"Long-overdue? Remus, it's been three days."

"Longest three days of my life." 

Sirius pressed his lips together tightly, fighting back the laugh threatening to burst out of him. Remus was the biggest bloody drama queen sometimes. Everything always had to be a big production with him, nothing straightforward.

It was wonderful and infuriating in equal measure.

"I'll remind you that you at least _told_ Dora that there would be a chat afterwards. Scheduled it, even," he quipped. "None of this leaving people hanging for two weeks with a cryptic promise of 'later' that never seemed like it was going to manifest."

Remus had the good grace to blush at least, and Sirius was pleased he'd remembered events correctly. It sometimes got strange between them when he'd get something wrong.

"I'm never living that down, am I?"

"I mean, it was flattering to know you'd thought I'd been an exceptionally vivid daydream, but I was strutting about with love bites all over my neck for like a week after, so _you would have thought…_ "

Remus shrugged helplessly at that. It was an old argument between them that each thought the other entirely out of their league. Sirius sighed and shook his head, but knew better than to push, watching as Remus picked up a few of his old jumpers, eyeing the frayed edges with dismay.

"You know, if you don't pick something soon,” Sirius warned. “You'll have to show up to dinner naked."

Not that he'd mind; not that Dora would either, for that matter.

"I wonder if that might be preferable at this point," Remus muttered.

"You never know," Sirius said with a careless shrug. "You might find something in the wardrobe yet."

Remus narrowed his eyes suspiciously, the grey-green colour darkening like the sea before a storm. Sirius loved that colour as much as he loved the gold on him; it meant trouble.

"What did you do?"

Sirius blinked innocently, fooling no one.

"What makes you think I did anything?" Remus folded his arms, jaw tight, fixing Sirius with a glare that told him he was well and truly rumbled. Sirius rolled his eyes. “Oh, just look in the back, you wanker.”

Remus strode across the room to where the wardrobe stood ajar, clothing spilling out in a tumble as if rifled through by a pack of nifflers. He fought his way to the back in a clatter of hangers and cloth-muffled curses. An image sprang to Sirius' mind of Remus trekking through the dense forests of Madhya Pradesh, machete in hand. Remus’ brow furrowed in frustration, sweat beading at his temples as he hacked and swore at the brush, unaware of the tiger stalking him intently. Hungrily.

(Remus had never mentioned encountering a wild tiger during his year in India. But Remus was also notorious for glossing over near-death experiences, so as far as Sirius was concerned, tigers were fair game.)

Remus stilled, and Sirius held his breath.

“I suppose any objections I raise over you doing my shopping for me will fall on deaf ears?”

Sirius desperately wished he could see Remus’ face to know whether that was anger or resignation. Remus always did a funny little thing with his mouth when he knew he’d lost an argument but didn’t want to admit it.

“You suppose correctly,” Sirius responded, inspecting his nails with affected nonchalance. “They should fit nicely; I gave Emmie your measurements.”

“I see.”

Remus stepped out of the wardrobe, his new outfit swinging from the hanger gripped in his hand. A soft, olive-grey collared shirt and a new pair of denims, as most of Remus’ existing pairs were worn out in the knees or the back pocket where he kept his cigarettes. Sirius had reckoned a single outfit for a special occasion was all he’d be able to get away with. He wasn’t terribly fussed about it though, especially as Remus pulled on the shirt. The colour was absolutely lovely on him.

Remus turned around after he had finished dressing, arms out to his sides, presenting himself for inspection with a put-upon air. Sirius immediately reached out and began fussing with his buttons.

“I can dress myself!” Remus complained, swatting at his hands.

“You’re going on a date, not an interview, for fuck’s sake,” Sirius muttered, popping open the top two buttons and the ones at his cuffs. Remus jerked his arms away, scowling, and rolled his sleeves up neatly.

"Happy?" he asked, and Sirius smiled at him.

"You clean up nice, darling."

There it was: that funny little thing Remus did with his mouth. A twitch at the left corner, and then he’d wet his lips and--

Sirius caught a pillow to the face, knocking him back onto the bed.

“Alright, that’s enough out of you now then.” Remus jerked his chin towards the door, which was now standing slightly ajar. “You helping with dinner or what?”

Sirius threw an arm over his face, swooning dramatically.

“This is the thanks I get?” Remus growled low in his throat, but Sirius was too well attuned to be truly concerned. “All that effort I put into making sure you’re looking your best for your date— ”

“Which I appreciate— ”

“No word of thanks, can’t even take a gift gracefully!” He peered out from under his arm to see Remus rubbing at his lilies, utterly shamefaced. “And now he wants me to toil away in the kitchen for him like a house elf! Only a proper one that actually works and doesn’t mutter nasty, bigoted things under his breath whilst eavesdropping on conversations that _don’t concern him!_ ”

There was a shuffle at the other side of the door, Kreacher grumbling as he trudged back down the hall.

_Thought so, the little sneak._

“You’d think he had anything better to do,” Remus mused. Sirius barked out a laugh and rolled off the bed with a little less grace than he had aimed for.

“I’m beginning to think Kreacher might hate you more than me.” Sirius hooked an arm around Remus’ waist, pulling him in close.

“You might be the fallen scion of the House,” Remus said with a wry grin. “But I’m the half blood mongrel that’s been sullying the bloodline.”

“I think it might have a little more to do with the fact that you were sullying my bloodline on the table the other day.”

Remus dropped his head, biting his lip in an attempt not to laugh, though his chest and shoulders shook with it regardless. Sirius was relieved; if he could get past that shell of self-deprecation that Remus liked to construct around himself when he was feeling nervous, it meant the evening could be salvaged. Remus lifted his gaze, his grin having re-emerged as something a little less brittle.

“Is that a complaint?”

Sirius pressed in as close as he dared; their lips were a hairsbreadth apart. 

“Never.”

Remus closed the distance between them with another low growl, kissing him with an unexpected (albeit welcome) fervour. He pulled back with a wink, leading Sirius along the hall towards the kitchen with a spring in his step, grinning brightly all the way down.

They were ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I wouldn't put you at a sort-of cliff-hanger unless I was almost done with the next part!! It was originally supposed to be part of this scene, but there was a lot of work I needed to do with it yet, so... it's coming, and soon, but if I'm going to think realistically about my free time, we're looking at March probably. :(
> 
> Also, I realize I keep writing Dora in a way that makes it seem like she's just thirsty AF, which isn't really true. So I promise once we get past a certain point (ie: out of the "oooooh, shiny" part of the relationship) there will be some proper plot and characterization for her that doesn't revolve around Remus Lupin's chest.
> 
> Thanks everyone!!


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